“What did he say?” Hank asked as he walked up to the women and placed his hand on the small of Marcus’s back.
“Oh, hello, Hank. I didn’t realize you—”
“Hank, I told you I would handle this,” Marcus said.
“He just kept pounding on the door and calling out for you. I started yelling at him to shut up, and he turned around at me. He almost fell off the steps, he’s so drunk. He just stood there wobbling all over the place and saying your name over and over. I told him you weren’t here, and he started yelling at me to get you here right now. I tried to encourage him to shut up, but—”
“That’s when I walked up, and Helen called you.”
“This is ridiculous,” Marcus said and started walking toward the steps.
Helen grabbed Marcus by the arm and held him back. “Sweetheart, the police are on their way. Maybe you better just let them handle this. We don’t need you getting another… you know.” Helen pointed at her eye and squinted it closed.
Hank looked back and forth between Helen and Marcus with a shocked look. “You mean that black eye came from—”
“He won’t do it again,” Marcus said as he pulled himself free from Helen’s grasp. “Let me go talk to him.”
“Hold on,” Hank said, “I’m not letting you go over there with someone who has already hit you once. Let’s let the police handle it or at least let me come over there with you.”
“No. You stay over here. This is my mess.” Marcus turned away from Hank and walked over to Robert. His heart pounded in his chest with each step and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Stay calm. Stay calm. As he neared the ring of light coming from the porch, he smelled the alcohol. He stopped walking and stood staring down at him from a few feet away. His stomach began to knot, and his tongue grew thick in his mouth. When he opened his mouth to speak, nothing but a gargled gasp came out.
Robert raised his head from his hands in response to the sound. He looked at Marcus and swayed back and forth as he squinted one eye and tried to focus. “Baby!” he slurred as his face lit up with a smile.
“Don’t call me that,” Marcus finally choked out.
“Where you been? Was looking for you. I tried to call and—”
“Robert, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I said…” Robert paused to belch. “I said I was looking for you, baby.” Robert fumbled at the porch railing and attempted to stand. He wobbled from side to side until he finally tumbled to his right and fell against the railing. “Whoo. Ground’s a little slippery here.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Am not. Just had a few beers on the ride down to make that long drive tolerable. Made it easier to get here and find you. Shit. Why does anybody want to live in all this boring nothing down here? What the hell is in this town? Just naughty boys playing hide and seek?” Robert giggled as he struggled to stand upright. He kept one hand clutching the railing and pouted at Marcus. “Somebody won’t return my calls and texts. Luckily, you’re terrible at hiding what you’re really up to, so I figured it out.” Robert attempted to tap his temple but missed and poked himself in the eye. “Ow. Son of a bitch. Now look what you made me do.”
“Robert, you know how I feel about people drinking and driving. With my father and all.”
“Oh, calm down. I ain’t the one who ran over your daddy. I know how to drive. Hell, if I’d hit anyone, it would’ve been your fault anyway. Making me come all the way down here looking for you.”
Marcus glared at Robert and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s not funny.”
“Aw, c’mon, baby.” Robert shifted on his feet and began tottering forward. He lifted his arm to attempt to grab Marcus by the shoulder.
Instinctively, Marcus cowered and took three steps back from Robert. He lifted his arms in front of his face and turned his eyes away. The knot in his stomach tightened and his earlier meal rose in his throat. The familiar flashing of light at the corner of his eyes began to throb in time with his racing heartbeat. He took two more steps back and bent over at the waist to put his hands on his thighs and stare at the ground, willing the food to stay in his stomach and the breath to return to his lungs. As he closed his eyes and tried to steady himself, a hand landed softly on his back.
“Everything okay over here? Who the hell is this man?”
“Who the hell is this man?” Robert asked.
“That is none of your business,” Marcus mumbled as he opened his eyes and stared at the worn leather toes of Hank’s work boots standing by his own shoes. With his hand under Marcus’s upper arm, Hank lifted him back into an upright position.
“I think I hear the police sirens.” Hank placed his arm around Marcus’s shoulder and started steering him back to the driveway. “Why don’t we go back to my place and let them—”
“Your place?” Robert spat out his words and scoffed. “You little shit. You running around on me? I knew it. You were doing it in Atlanta too, weren’t you? Probably some trash you found in that Waffle Barn.” He tottered back on his heels while he smirked at Marcus. “No. Not enough money from those losers, is there? I bet it was that Stephen guy from the cancer fundraiser. Couldn’t keep your eyes off of him and his wallet, could you? Nothing gets that little ass in the air like a fat wallet.”
Hank stopped and turned back to face Robert. “I think you should shut up.”
“That’s not very nice, Marcus.” Robert tried to cluck his tongue in disapproval but only managed to spit on his chin. “Taking my gifts and giving your ass to someone else.” Robert wagged his finger at Marcus and giggled before an angry cloud fell over his face. “Not nice at all.” He staggered again and then took a few steps forward to poke Hank in the chest. “If you want this little slut, you better be prepared to pay him well. He likes a fancy house and all the expensive things that go with it. But don’t let him talk. His roots start showing when he talks.”
“Robert, please,” Marcus mumbled as he collapsed into Hank’s side. His head swam and his knees quivered.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m a forgiving man.” Robert swung his arm around and clutched the collar of Marcus’s shirt. “Come on, baby. I’m taking you home.”
Marcus lifted his hands and pushed back against Robert’s chest. As he pushed, he heard the sound of Inez cocking the shotgun behind him followed by the increasing volume of the police sirens. He looked back at Inez and pleaded, “Please, don’t.”
Inez lowered the gun and frowned at him. The flashing lights of the police cars pulling into the driveway behind Helen and Inez sent red and blue streaks of light bouncing around the tree limbs and the fronts of the houses. Marcus squinted his eyes against the swirling brightness, feeling dizzier and unable to focus his eyes as he looked back at the fuming Robert. His collar pulled against his neck as Robert jerked him forward. Hank’s grip tightened on his arm and pulled him in the other direction.
“Oh really, you old bitch? Like you would shoot me?” Robert shifted his arm and pulled Marcus forward.
Marcus tried to yank himself away and slipped from Hank’s grasp in the process. He tripped over his feet and toppled backward to the ground, landing hard on the sidewalk and scraping his elbow on the pavement. He rolled onto his side and looked back to see Helen and Inez rushing to help him.
“That’s where you belong, you trash,” Robert ranted from behind him as the women helped Marcus to his knees. “On your knees.”
“Okay. That’s enough,” Hank said behind him.
Marcus spun back around in time to see Hank ball his hand into a fist, draw back his arm, and land a punch square in Robert’s face. As Robert staggered back and fell to the ground, he let out a loud yelp. He landed in a pile on the ground at the base of the steps just as two policemen bustled between Hank and Robert with their guns drawn.
Robert rose on one elbow, shook his
head, and looked at the two policemen. “Jesus. Does everyone in this Podunk town have guns?”
Marcus took the hand Helen offered to him and let her help him back to his feet. “Officers,” she said, “there’s no need for guns. Please put them away.”
“Miss Inez,” the younger policeman, Randall, said, “I know you have a permit for that gun, but it’d make my job a whole lot easier if you would just take that on back into your house.”
“Shit. Someone has to protect us when you take forever to—”
“Inez, go,” Helen demanded as she pointed back toward Inez’s house. Inez stomped off as Helen lifted Marcus to his feet, wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and walked him over to Hank and the sheriff. “Spud, that man on the ground is the one you need to arrest. He’s been here disturbing the peace and he’s drunk as Cooter Brown. Look what he did to poor Marcus’s mailbox.”
“I’m not disturbing the peace!” Robert yelled as he tried to stand from where he had fallen. He lost his balance and crumbled back to the ground twice before successfully making it to his feet with the deputy’s help. “I’m trying to get some peace back. It’s that redneck with the beard you need to be arresting. He’s the troublemaker. You saw him assault me!”
“Robert, shut up,” Marcus mumbled as he lifted his arm and looked at the raw skin on his forearm that was beginning to bleed.
“Spud, I didn’t assault this jackass,” Hank explained. “He came at Marcus and I had to stop him.”
“He’s lying!” Robert yelled, losing his balance and staggering into Deputy Randall’s side. “Don’t just stand there, you yokel. Haul this man away. Look what he did to my face!” Robert pointed at the red mark on his face.
The sheriff glanced back and forth between the two men with a confused look. “I did see him hit you.”
“Spud, don’t listen to this drunk fool.” Helen stamped her foot. “Inez and I saw the whole thing. He’s a drunk driver! And he started it. Hank had to hit him, just to shut him up.”
“You see! He did hit me.” Robert flung his arms out to his sides. “But don’t listen to this old biddy. I was just sitting on the porch and trying to find my friend Marcus. It was completely unprovoked.”
“Mister, you’re pretty drunk. I think I better take you down to the station to dry out. Drunk driving is not tolerated here.” Sheriff Stewart pointed at the mangled mailbox on the hood of the car. “Also, there’s the property damage.”
As the deputy pushed him toward the police car, Robert lifted his head and shot Marcus an evil grin. “Property. Yes, property. I’m just here trying to get my property back.” Robert yanked his shoulder away from the deputy and wavered on his feet.
“Property!” Hank spun around and gawked at Robert. “Marcus is not property.”
“No, you idiot. My car. It’s worth more than that boy.” Robert looked at the deputy and gave a half smile. “It’s a yellow Fiat that this boy over here took without my permission. So, if you’re going to arrest me, you need to arrest that little thief, too. Of course, if he and the car will just come on back to Atlanta, we can forget all of this nonsense. I just want my car and…” Robert suddenly staggered and dropped to the ground.
“See, Spud,” Helen said, “he’s drunk. You can’t believe anything he says.”
“Hold on. If I remember correctly, this young man did come into town in a little yellow car.” Sheriff Stewart looked around at the assembled group, adjusted his hat, and knitted his brows while he thought. “Well, I don’t rightly know exactly what is going on here. That man is clearly drunk and disorderly. Maybe we better all go down to the station and straighten this out. Randall, put that drunk in your car and take him downtown.”
“Oh, come on, Spud,” Helen said and threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re being ridiculous. Just haul this drunk away and let me get poor Marcus into his house. Look at him. He’s so upset that he’s shaking. Plus, we’re keeping the whole neighborhood up.”
“Marcus, did you steal that car?” Hank asked, his face a mix of fear and confusion. “Tell him the car is yours.”
“Yes, Mr. Sumter, you can clear all of this up now or we can go down to the station. Do you have any proof that the car is yours?”
Marcus looked around at all of the faces staring at him in expectation. He saw Robert stand behind Randall and glare at him over the officer’s shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak but could only produce a loud sob. He shook his head as he dropped to his knees and vomited.
“Marcus?” Hank said, his voice full of disappointment. “Please tell him… you didn’t really… did you?”
Marcus looked at Hank with a guilty frown. Hank’s face shifted from shock to irritation.
“I see.” Hank sighed and crossed his arms as he turned away from Marcus. “Spud, can you give me a ride home after I give you my statement? I think I’m done here.”
“Hank, let me explain,” Marcus said from the ground, his voice barely a whisper.
Hank put up a hand to silence him. “It’s late. I’ve had enough drama for one night.” He turned back to the sheriff. “Can we go?”
“All right,” Spud said and slapped Hank on the shoulder, “let’s head down to the station. Helen, you go get Miss Inez and bring Marcus down with you, please. I’ll need statements from all of you.”
Marcus sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes. Hank stormed over to the patrol car and opened the back door. He paused with one foot in the car and gave Marcus a look of dismay, then he shook his head and ducked into the car.
With a voice growing hoarse from the burn of vomit, Marcus croaked out, “Wait. It’s not like that.” He recoiled from the weak kick Robert made at his leg as the deputy led him to the other patrol car.
“Should’ve left you where I found you,” Robert yelled back at Marcus as the deputy opened the back door of the car and tucked him inside. The yard grew darker as the flashing lights shut off and the cars cranked.
Marcus sobbed as the two police cars back out of the driveway. “Hank, wait.”
Helen knelt beside Marcus and tucked him under her arm. “Sweetie, you need to get up. We need to call Raff and have him meet us at the station. I’m sure he can get this all straightened out.”
Marcus looked at Helen with his lip quivering. “Oh, Helen, what have I done?” He bucked forward and vomited again.
Chapter Thirteen
Marcus squinted at his reflection in the glass of the Tammy’s door and sighed. No amount of cold water splashed on his face or hot coffee poured down his throat would hide the fact that he had slept a grand total of fifteen minutes.
After the embarrassing and terrifying encounter with Robert and watching Hank storm off, he had spent the ride to the police station flipping between attempting to calm Helen and Inez and crying while Helen and Inez tried to calm him. By the time he had given his statement to Sheriff Stewart, shown the title to the Fiat in his name, and been released to go home, he only had four possible hours of sleep ahead of him. He had asked to see Hank before he left the station, but had been refused. He tried arguing with Deputy Randall for ten minutes, but finally gave up and allowed Helen and Inez to drive him home.
After he had convinced both women that he did not need either of them to stay with him, he had fumbled into the house and collapsed on his bed fully clothed. A mere five minutes of lying in bed had revealed that instead of sleeping, he would spend those four hours worrying about Hank, fearing Robert, and planning his getaway. When the first drops of sunlight crept under the blinds in the bedroom, he had made up his mind. He packed his clothes and a few photos from the back of the piano into his duffel, thrown it into the trunk of the car, and practiced his resignation speech to Francine at least thirty times in front of the mirror.
Marcus pushed at the bags under his eyes and groaned into the morning light. He pulled the glass door open and slipped into the diner as quietly
as he could, hoping to avoid any conversation with the sisters. He ignored their now-familiar calls of “mornin’ sugar,” “hey there, sweet cheeks,” and “oh my God, Marcus, it’s too early.” Lowering his head, he made a beeline past the empty tables, around the counter and into the kitchen to look for Francine. His head pounded from the night spent tossing and turning between fits of anger and tears. He had tried to call Hank twice, hoping he had already been released and would be up early to go to the garage, but had only reached his voicemail. For all he knew, Hank could be sitting at the jail or just ignoring his calls completely.
“Francine? You back here?” Marcus poked his head through the swinging door.
“Hey there, punkin’,” Francine said through the matchstick she held clenched between her teeth. She looked up from the pile of onions she was cutting on the prep table and gave Marcus a kind smile. “Trying not to cry my eyes out while cutting these things.”
“I know the feeling.”
Francine glanced quickly at Marcus before shifting her eyes back to the pile of onions. “I figured you might be a little late this morning, what with all the drama at your house last night.”
“You heard.”
“Georgette told me. Spud Stewart told her. Honey, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Well, that’s the reason I’m here.” Marcus shuffled from one foot to the other and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I hate to do it to you, but I need to quit. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Oh, now, hold on, honey.” Francine dropped the knife on the table and picked up a rag to wipe her hands. “There’s no need to go skittering off like a spooked squirrel just because some jackass made a scene at your house last night. No one ever has to know that all went down. I mean, it’ll kill Inez not to be able to blab all over town, but she knows when something needs to be kept just between us girls. No one that comes in here ever has to know. Shoot, if you just stay back in the kitchen all day, no one has to know that you’re here. No need to be embarrassed.”
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 17
