by T. Braddy
“Go look in the bushes,” he said, and I did.
There, I found the case Vanessa had left in our house six months ago.
“Holy. Shit.”
“I managed to – Christ, this hurts – I managed to take it with me when I left the scene of the wreck. Fucker got heavy once the bullet wounds really hit me and the adrenaline wore off.”
“I owe you what’s in here,” I said. “Whatever it is, I will give it to you.”
He tried and mostly succeeded to wave one hand in my direction. “Keep it. Whatever’s in there is worth a whole bunch of lives. I don’t need that on my conscience. Besides, once I’m off death’s doorstep, I have a favor to ask of you, Rol.”
“Christ,” I replied. “If it’s anything except ‘die painfully,’ I don’t know that I can do it.”
Deuce grabbed his ribs to hold in a laugh. “Stop it. I’m the one been plugged here.”
I showed him my shoulder.
“Well,” he said. “I got it double. Here and here.” He showed me the wounds.
“Give me five minutes, and we will hit the road. You ready?”
“It’ll take me five minutes to get off these steps. You got a car?”
“Old junker somebody loaned me. Spare’s in the house. Be right back.”
I went inside.
I thought of what to do with the money. Considered taking it with me, fleeing to Mexico. Seemed like the only place I’d be able to go where people weren’t trying to kill me. Maybe not true, even then.
My phone was cracked and deformed, but the damned thing managed to call out when I pressed the button.
It rang and rang but went to voicemail. I sighed. Had no choice but to give it a shot.
“Yaelis, there will be a suitcase in my house. I want you to have it. You can go visit your family now. I’ll put it under the back porch. Just – just take it. Please. I know that won’t change anything, but it can help. Oh, and the code is 912. Bye, Y. Be good, now. I’m easy to find, if you ever want to speak to me again.”
I pictured Yaelis, orphaned, without anyone to help her figure out the next steps in her life. I sympathized with her in a way she’d never fully understand. Even if she never spoke to me again – and why would she? – I wanted to make sure she got taken care of. I only hoped she’d get the message. Maybe make that trip to South America on a nameless, faceless drug dealer’s dime.
I grabbed all the towels and bandages from my bathroom and followed the trail of blood to my car, where Deuce lay unconscious in the passenger seat. Willie jumped in the back and, wagging his tail, started barking.
Deuce’s eyes opened.
“Got some first aid,” I said. “Let me patch you up until we can find somebody to do a more permanent job on you.”
“Got a doctor friend down in Jacksonville.”
“That where we headed? That where the favor is?”
“It’s a starting point,” he said. “We’ve got plenty to talk about, good buddy.”
I cleaned off the wounds – both bullets had miraculously gone through him – and wrapped the entirety of his hulking body in bandages. Temporary fixes. He’d need to see a doctor ASAP if he wanted to survive this ordeal.
Me, I figured I’d also need to call on a doc for my injuries. For now the alcohol was masking the pain, but I was worried about infection. I replaced the bandages on my hand and had Deuce wrap my shoulder. It would have to be good enough for the time being, but I’d still need to see a guy in a white coat fairly soon.
I got in and pulled cautiously out of the driveway. Deuce closed his eyes and did not speak for a while, and so I mostly watched Savannah disappear into my rearview window.
I thought about what all this meant, wondering if I had accomplished anything besides destruction in Savannah. The town wasn’t in ruins, but I suppose I had done my best impression of William Tecumseh Sherman towards the end, there. I’d sobered up a bit, but here I was, driving with a bottle of Beam sitting heavily on my brow. People had died, and though I had come close to reaching closure over my feelings for Vanessa, I still wasn’t completely satisfied. No matter how far I’d come, I couldn’t help but think of the monster she had let into her life. I knew that was wrong, that I should have no dominion over what she had done when we weren’t together, but it didn’t hurt any less.
“You’re grinding your teeth,” Deuce said sleepily beside me. Willie yapped in agreement.
“Old habits coming back,” I said.
“You smell like the underside of a bar dumpster. That your doing?”
“The monster,” I said. “Limba Fitz.”
“Hm,” he replied. “Got you liquored up to kill you. Huh.”
“He’s dead,” I said. “I killed him. Shot him and watched him get dragged away by the tide.”
Deuce cleared his throat. “That ain’t the only killing I suspect’s going to happen.”
“Out with it,” I said.
He took his time getting to the point, but at last he said, “Somebody killed my little brother. Hacked him up and dumped him in the swamps, hoping some gators got to him before he was found. Instead, some poacher found bits and pieces of him, called the police.”
“Christ on the cross. I’m sorry, Deuce. Jesus God, I’m sorry.”
He didn’t tear up. Didn’t break down. Just stared out the window.
“I know who did it. Know who’s responsible. Don’t matter right now. We’ll get into that. Know that. For now, though, get me fixed up. Let me heal. Then we’re gonna rain hell down on the people who did it.”
“I’m in,” I said.
“You sure?”
“I owe you my life twice over. Even if I didn’t, I trust you.”
“It’s about to get hairy in a real fucking way.”
“No more bail jumpers?”
“I’m done with it,” he said. “I’ll clean out my bank accounts once we hit the Florida line. Then it’s all cash, all the time, at least until it’s over. I suspect I won’t see Georgia again, not unless I’m passing through to get somewhere else. Florida, either, once I take care of this. I reckon I’m about to do to it what you did to Savannah. I want to be upfront with you about that.”
“I’ve got nothing to go back to. Might as well forge ahead. Besides, been awhile since I’ve managed to get under a Florida sun.”
At a certain point, my phone buzzed in my pants. I reached in to pull the thing out. I half-expected the caller ID to sayYaelisbut instead it readAllison.
I slid my finger across the front of the cracked screen and held the phone to my ear.
“Are you alive?” Allison said. “Is this even Rolson?”
She sounded panicked, and I supposed I hadn’t given her the updates she needed, but I was busy, at the time.
“Half there,” I said. “I’m on my way to see a doctor, but I’ll get good and patched up. Are you all right?”
“Except for the news I’ve been watching. I chain-smoked all night, hearing about the swath of destruction you cut through Savannah. You sure you’re all right? You sound really far away.”
“I’m alive,” I said. “That’s the best I can say right now.”
There was a long pause.
Then she said, “So I guess this is goodbye.”
I looked at Deuce, who glanced at me, his mouth upturned in a half-smile.
“I’ve got something to handle. I owe an old friend a favor, and it’s hard–”
“Fuck. You. I’ve been worried sick all night about you, and the best you can offer is that you have to help a friend out?”
“Just a quick trip down to Jacksonville – and elsewhere in Florida – and then you’re the first person I’m going to call. Promise.”
Another pause. “Don’t wait too long, Rolson McKane.”
“It’s better I don’t drag you into this. You see what happens whenever I come to town, don’t you?”
“Death and misery.”
“Might as well be my middle name.”
“Don’t be surprised if I track you down.”
I coughed, tried to laugh. “I’m sure that won’t be hard to do.”
“Just follow all the dead bodies.”
“Precisely.”
She hung up, and for a while my heart ached.
“You ready?” I asked.
“We’ll need guns,” he said. “Plenty of them. I’ve got a contact in middle Florida. Likes to float around a lot. We’ll need to track him down.”
I stared at the rapidly-disappearing stretch of water. It was about to turn swampy and desolate on us, and I guess I was ready for a change.
“Liquor, too” I said. “Back to the reckless days.”
I felt the need already started to creep into every cell of my body. The old want, that genetic predisposition towards being a fuck-up, was back.
“Those days were only a few months ago,” he replied.
“Well, they’re here again.”
Willie barked, as if in agreement, and I stomped the gas pedal. The car jerked, grunted, and picked up speed. The sun was up over them Georgia pines, but soon we’d be basking under a bright Florida sky.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T. Blake Braddy is the author of Boogie House, the first Rolson McKane novel. He lives in Nashville, Tennessee with his fiancée, Kate, and their three pets: Brodie, Mimi, and Coco. You can find him online at tblakebraddy.com, but he’s more likely dwelling on his Twitter feed: @blakebraddy.
