Holding Smoke

by Steph Post

  *

  Shelia pulled up in front of her room at the Blue Bird, but let the Rabbit’s engine idle. Exhausted, she stared mindlessly out the cracked windshield at her faded blue door, its rust-stained corners, the sharp, boot-level dent, lucky number seven, reflecting in the headlights. Shelia dropped her head to the steering wheel, banged it once with her forehead and yanked the keys from the ignition. She sat up straight and looked around the motel’s parking lot. Through the smoky dawn light she could see figures moving in one of the room’s open doorways. A man emerged, head down and shoulders hunched, still buckling his belt as he skulked toward the semi cab parked by the road. Shelia shook her head as she got out of the car and fumbled half-heartedly through her purse. The woman standing in the doorway raised a hand and Shelia crumpled the empty cigarette pack in her fist and waved back. She slung her purse on the roof of her car and slumped back against the driver’s side door as the woman came over, wearing only pink plastic flip-flops and a long, threadbare Tweety Bird T-shirt. She brushed her frizzy red bangs out of her eyes and held out her cigarette to Shelia.

  “It’s a menthol.”

  “No. But thanks, Trix.”

  Trixie shrugged and hopped up onto the hood of Shelia’s Rabbit, dangling pale, skinny legs over the front tire. Her underwear was mustard-yellow, matching the bird on her shirt. Trixie laughed.

  “Yeah, you was always so picky ’bout only smoking those damn Capris.”

  Trixie held out her cigarette and studied it, as if admiring an engagement ring.

  “They say these got fiberglass in ’em. I say, hell yeah. I can’t swim. I ever fall in a river, maybe I’ll float. Like a boat, you know.”

  As tired as she was, Shelia couldn’t help but smile. Trixie never failed to crack her up. She’d known her for a long time, since back before the Scorpions, when they were both trying to make their way with a motorcycle club over in Cross City. The Red Rebels had taken a shine to Trixie, but Shelia had too much of a mouth on her and too much going on between her ears. She’d lost one of her back teeth getting away from that crew, but she would’ve lost a lot more if she’d stayed. Shelia had been surprised to see Trixie back in Bradford County after so many years, though not surprised to see her hooking truckers off the highway. Trixie, like Shelia, was a cat with nine lives and then some. Trixie swung her bare legs and craned her neck to look Shelia more fully in the face.

  “Man, you look wrecked. Long night? You getting into trouble?”

  Shelia leaned her head all the way back against the window.

  “Maybe.”

  “I mean, whatever. Least you got a respectable job now, too. Up at that garage, working with those brothers, right? Seem like they treat you okay. Like it’s a real job and shit.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You dating that one guy? With the limp and the cane?”

  Shelia lifted her head to stare. Trixie shrugged.

  “I seen him come back with you one night. I see everything from that window. When things is slow, there ain’t nothing to do but look out while you wait. I saw him hold the door open for you. All nice-like.”

  Shelia quickly looked away, though with everything she and Trixie had seen and done together, there was no point in being shy. Things were different with Benji, though. Different in a way she wasn’t yet ready to put into words. Shelia’s lip curled, thinking of him still at the barn with the others. She knew it was the smart decision for her to come back to Silas early, but she still didn’t like being excluded.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “He could even be cute if it weren’t for all them scars.”

  Shelia kept her voice noncommittal.

  “Yeah. He was a looker before.”

  She was afraid Trixie was going to ask for the story. Shelia stood up straight, stretched and yawned, hoping Trixie would get the hint. It had been a long night, and Shelia was still going to have to show up at the salvage yard in a few hours to make everything appear business as usual. Trixie grinned at Shelia and slid down from the hood. She stubbed her cigarette out on the Rabbit’s front tire and flicked it across the parking lot.

  “Hey, least no matter how high up you get, you don’t go forgetting where you come from. You ain’t afraid to sit and have a smoke. Not like that stuck-up Bible beater.”

  Shelia narrowed her eyes. She turned to Trixie, who was half bent over, examining a bruise on her thigh.

  “Bible beater?”

  Trixie stood up and pointed down the long row of doors.

  “Yeah, that girl down in ten. Name’s Dinah. You ever see her? Me and her worked together at The Striped Tiger down in Gainesville, God, I don’t know how many years back. ’Fore the Rebels, even. She was the legit worst dancer I ever seen. I mean, it was like watching an earthworm wiggling around there at the bottom of the pole. Just sad. They switched her over to the bar, so she was there a little while, and we partied a few times. Now, she moves in here and acts all like she don’t know me. Like she ain’t never seen me before. I tried bumming a light from her the other day. Even said, ‘Hey, Dee, ’member The Tiger?’ and she just walks on by. Prude-ass bitch. Maybe she gone over and found Jesus again. I ain’t know.”

  Trixie started to head back to her room, but Shelia grabbed her by the arm, shaking her.

  “Wait, found Jesus?”

  Trixie pulled away and rubbed her arm.

  “Ow. Like I don’t get enough of that from the johns.”

  Shelia’s heart was pounding and her throat had turned to ash.

  “What’d you mean she found Jesus?”

  Trixie was craning her neck, trying to look at the back of her arm.

  “You know how easy I bruise? I swear, I think I need some vitamins or some—”

  Shelia almost smacked her across the face to get her attention.

  “Trixie! What’d you mean Dinah found Jesus?”

  Trixie cocked her head and scrunched her fingers through the back of her hair in annoyance.

  “Damn, calm down. What’d you take last night? I said Dinah might’ve found Jesus. Back in the day, she used to go on ’bout this church ’round here and its crazy preacher lady. Like there was some kind of history there. I don’t know what. You ever hear of this church? Stepping something or other to somewhere, up in Kentsville? I used to drive by it all the time when I stayed out that way. It’s the one where they drink poison, dancing all night, barking up at the moon. Like, freaky shit. You know the one?”

  Shelia reached for her purse, digging frantically for her cellphone and scrolling through it like a fiend. She nodded to Trixie as she raised the phone to her ear, praying that Ramey picked up.

  “Yeah. I know the one.”

  12

  There was murder in Ramey’s eyes such as Judah had never seen before. A look akin to bloodlust. In truth, Judah had never seen the look on any person’s face before and had only felt it on his own once, when he had leapt off the front porch after Weaver and followed him blindly through the woods, his mind already made up that one of them would have to die. In the few blurred moments between Ramey charging through the barn door and ducking underneath his outstretched arm, Judah remembered that feeling. That someone had threatened someone else he loved and he was going to burn the world to the ground. Going to dance among the ashes. He tried to catch her, but Ramey dodged, twisted behind him, and had her 9mm out of the back of his jeans before he could stop her. His fingers grazed the sleek fabric of her dress as he spun, but she was already beyond him—gun in hand, snapping back the slide, hair flying out wild behind her—and Judah had only a split second to imagine what had brought her to such a place. He swung around just in time to see Ramey strike her prey. The barrel of the gun was at the edge of Dinah’s lips and Ramey’s free hand was encircling her throat as Judah futilely stumbled after her.

  Ramey had closed in on Dinah so quickly that the struggle was almost nonexistent. Dinah kicked back against the pallets behi
nd her and tried to break away, but there wasn’t much she could do with the gun in her face. The stack toppled forward, causing a moment of confusion, but Ramey’s grip on Dinah’s neck was unyielding. Ramey whipped her around and slammed her up against the nearest post with a crack as Dinah’s head knocked into the wood. Dinah was clawing at Ramey’s wrist, but only as a natural reaction to being choked. The gun was controlling the space between them and both women knew it. Ramey slackened her grip just slightly and Dinah’s hands fell limply to her sides. Judah could do no more than watch.

  “Ramey?”

  She didn’t answer him and he knew why. The hyena laughter was in her ears. Savage and devouring, unbridled. The dark threads, insidious, were pooling in the corners of her vision. The beast was swallowing her, grinding her up in its teeth. He knew. But that didn’t mean he had to abandon her to the maw. Judah took a step.

  Behind him, Levi let out a long, low whistle to accompany Benji’s astonished gasp. Judah ignored them, holding out his palms to Ramey and moving cautiously toward her, like a man approaching a rabid or wounded beast. In Ramey’s case, they were one in the same. He wanted to calm her down, but more so, he wanted to get the gun away from her before she did something she could never walk away from.

  “Ramey, what happened?”

  Ramey shifted her footing slightly as she leaned into Dinah, drawing her closer. Dinah’s eyes were wide and wet, but she wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t sniveling or pleading. Judah reckoned that Dinah had either been in this kind of situation before or knew exactly what was going on. Probably both. Ramey brought her mouth around to Dinah’s ear, whispering, but still loud enough for Judah to hear.

  “Tell him.”

  Dinah’s head jerked away slightly and Ramey screamed.

  “Tell him!”

  Dinah was looking away now, like a stubborn child refusing to speak. As Judah cautiously stepped forward again, Ramey slid her grip up higher, forcing Dina’s head around and toward her. She cocked her right wrist up and rammed the gun between Dinah’s teeth. Ramey’s lips peeled back cruelly.

  “Tell him or I promise you, I will pull this trigger right now and tell him myself with the pieces of your face on the floor.”

  Judah was only a few feet away. He started to reach for her, but Ramey snapped her head around and met his eyes.

  “Don’t!”

  The raw crack of her voice was so primal, stripped down to a skinned anguish, and Judah almost didn’t notice that the gun was now pointed at him. She had crossed her right arm over her left, still outstretched, her hand still gripping Dinah’s throat, but the 9mm was on Judah now, and Ramey’s finger was still resting on the trigger. Judah went completely still, his mind an echo chamber, his heart riven. There was nothing left except the barrel of the gun and the eyes of the woman he loved behind it.

  “You don’t have to do this. You don’t want to do this.”

  “No.”

  She didn’t lower the gun; she didn’t lower her eyes. They were shining. No longer glazed over with a berserker’s fever, but with a depthless patina of sorrow.

  “But I was a fool to think that one choice could replace another, that the line of tally marks stretching back could ever be erased. That I wasn’t sealed to this life long ago. I thought I could walk with the devil, but hold hands with an angel. I forgot they were one in the same.”

  Judah’s voice broke.

  “Oh, Ramey. Not you. This isn’t you.”

  She spoke slowly, every word an ache. A suture ripped. A scar being born.

  “Yes, it is. And that burden will always be yours.”

  For a moment, Judah knew she was going to shoot him. He knew. But then their eyes locked, her breath steadied, she turned her head and drew the gun away. Judah heaved a sick sigh of relief, though he would never be the same.

  Ramey brought the 9mm back to Dinah’s lips and Dinah raised her hands up in surrender.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell you, I’ll tell everyone.”

  Dinah glanced desperately around the room, up at the streams of light filtering down through the rafters, at Judah, then back at Ramey. She still seemed reluctant, but Ramey stepped back, releasing Dinah’s neck, though still keeping the gun trained on her.

  “Tulah.”

  Dinah bobbed her head.

  “Yes, Sister Tulah.”

  It was like a punch in the face. Stupefying. The ghost he thought he’d escaped had been haunting them from their very midst. Behind him, Benji was sputtering while Levi exhaled a dangerous growl. Ramey glanced at Judah and raised her chin in the slightest of nods. Now that the truth was about to come out, she seemed more herself again. Judah nodded back, still smothered by Dinah’s admittance, still reeling, as Ramey continued.

  “How do you know her?”

  “She’s my…”

  Dinah looked down.

  “She’s my aunt.”

  “Keep going. Your words are the only thing buying you time. Your honesty is going to be the only thing that spares your life.”

  Dinah stretched her neck to again look at Judah. Her eyes were desperate, but as Judah’s head cleared, he felt no mercy. He strode forward to stand next to Ramey and this time she didn’t stop him. He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides and then deliberately pulled out his .45. Judah thumbed the safety off, but kept the gun pointed at the ground.

  “Talk.”

  Dinah glanced up again, squinting at the slivers of dawn, as if trying to gather her thoughts. Judah snapped the slide back on the .45 and he heard Levi do the same to his .38. Dinah began to babble.

  “It was the best way I could think of. Tulah said she had a job for me, and I couldn’t refuse it. She wanted Levi dead. She wanted all of you dead, but most of all Levi. Tulah wanted to make sure his death couldn’t be traced back to her, no matter what, so I came up with this plan. One screen in front of another, so it could never go back to her. When you were all found dead, it would be put on Elrod. Or Katerina. Or the Oreans. It would look like a ransom gone wrong. Nothing more. No matter how it went down, there’d be an explanation and Tulah would be protected.”

  Levi stepped closer, his face red, his body shaking with rage.

  “So this whole damn horse heist was just a show. Just a lure. A trap.”

  “If it all went right, Tulah would’ve gotten what she wanted, plus a mountain of cash. I was still going to ransom the horse.”

  Judah had never seen Levi so angry. Foaming at the mouth angry. If Judah wanted answers from Dinah, he needed to get them quickly.

  “Why Levi? Why does Tulah want him dead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Judah raised the .45 and Dinah frantically shook her head.

  “I swear I don’t know! She never told me and I didn’t ask. She just said to find a way to make it happen. So I did.”

  She looked right up into Judah’s eyes and, though it was nauseating to admit, he believed her. Sister Tulah. The cat that just kept coming back. Dinah hung her head.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t personal. Not toward you. Tulah gave me a chance at something I’ve wanted my whole life and I had to take it. I would do it again in a heartbeat, but I’m still sorry.”

  Judah turned to Ramey. He wasn’t sure what to do now that the dust around the bombshell was beginning to settle. Ramey was gnawing on her bottom lip and, for the first time, there was a tremor in her gun hand.

  “When we were all found dead…”

  Judah frowned.

  “I don’t think she’s lying.”

  Ramey flicked her eyes his way.

  “I don’t either. But how—”

  The hail of bullets severed her question, bestowing upon them the answer.

  *

  Ramey hit the ground. She bit her tongue and the tang of iron filled her mouth as she slid and scrambled on her elbows, trying to contort herself around the heap of toppled pallets. She kicked at the dirt floor
, brittle straw and chips of moldy wood flying all around her, and managed to curl her body behind the makeshift barricade. The sharp sting of gunpowder was in the air and she could hear shouting and scuffling between the deafening cracks of bullets fired. Ramey hooked one knee under her and pushed herself up. In the pandemonic blur, her eyes immediately sought Judah. He was behind the post she’d held Dinah against, his shoulder braced against the splintering wood, his head snapping back after each stolen shot. A bullet hissed past Ramey’s left ear and she swung the barrel of her 9mm over the top of the pallet, searching for a target in the chaos.

  Levi was in front of her, though several yards away, standing solidly, defiantly, in the center of the barn. On the other side of him, but out of range for Ramey if she didn’t want to risk hitting Levi, were the two men who seemed to be doing most of the shooting. As Ramey watched, one of them dropped his gun as he doubled over, stumbling and clutching his stomach. When he fell, she caught the look of shock on his face, eyes bugged, mouth inflated into an O. Ramey whipped her head around and found Benji, far to her left, unprotected on the ground, trying to scuttle behind Calypso’s stall. A third man, lurching around Levi, had his gun up, but Ramey fired first. The man howled and began shooting wildly in all directions as his leg gave out beneath him. Ramey ducked, one arm flung over her head, as shards of wood rained down. She squeezed her eyes shut, then gasped, and peered back over the pallet. Her ears were ringing with disorientation as she again checked for everyone. Benji was on his face in front of the stall. Judah was leaning against the post, his forehead nicked with blood. He was out of bullets, firing dry shots out the barn door. Levi was still standing in the same position, though swaying slightly, the .38 in the straw at his boots. The only sign left of the ambush was the scatter of brass, the haze of dissipating dust and smoke. It’d all happened so fast; twenty seconds after they realized it wasn’t going to be an easy slaughter, the men had bolted.

  Ramey forced herself to stand. No one else seemed to be moving, except Calypso, raising hell in his stall. As she stumbled past him to the barn door, Judah caught her arm, sliding his hand from her shoulder down to her wrist, dipping his head against her neck, but turning away, back toward his brothers. Ramey stepped out into the long, dew-crested grass and shaded her eyes against the sudden morning light, watching as the three men—one limping badly, one doubled over, clutching his stomach, being mostly carried by the other two—fled across the field to a silver SUV parked beneath the sprawling canopy of a live oak. Ramey aimed, lining up each man in her sights. But they were inconsequential. Hired thugs, a dime a dozen with no skin in the fight. They had run, they were afraid, they were nothing. Ramey lowered the gun.