by Jane Bradley
“I don’t want any sweet tea.” Jesse sat, looked at the cabinets. “I need something to eat.”
“Your stomach better now?”
“Yeah, I took care of it at that McDonald’s back there.”
“You always had that stomach thing?”
“Since I was a kid. Doctor says it’s nerves.” He went back to the refrigerator. “I don’t have any nerves. But I do need to eat something.”
“Have some fried chicken.” Mike lifted the foil off the platter on the table. “It’s good, man. She makes great fried chicken.”
“I don’t eat fried chicken.”
Mike took another chicken leg. He’d grabbed the first one while Jesse was outside pissing in the yard. “I’ve heard you say you like fried chicken. Everybody likes fried chicken.”
“I eat chicken strips,” Jesse said, “nice lean chicken strips. Nothing with a bone. It’s nasty.”
“Nasty?”
“I had this dog once, choked on a chicken bone.” Jesse glanced back, saw Mike looking at him. That was one thing he liked about Mike. He liked Jesse’s stories. He could listen to Jesse’s stories all day when most people didn’t give a damn. Except his mom. And Jenny. She listened to his stories. Jesse went to the kitchen window, looked out at the dark. “Her name was Pup. My momma didn’t want me having no dog, but I kept her, fed her scraps from my plate. I didn’t know a dog could die on chicken bones. But she choked, bone got stuck in her throat, and she just laid there, twitching on the sidewalk.” Jesse glanced at Mike, sitting there, just listening. “I was yelling to my mom to help her, but hell, no, she wasn’t home, just this man she kept around. He just sat on the front stoop, sipping his beer and watching.”
Jesse turned back to the window. “Pup finally stopped moving, and I guess I was crying or something. I was standing there, looking at Pup and all that blood. And he yells at me, ‘Just put the dead bitch in the trash.’ But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Then the bastard smacked the back of my head. Hard. It’s like I went blind for a second. I heard him saying, ‘Quit crying. Throw the bitch in the trash.’ I wanted to bury her, but he laughed and kept hitting. So I did it. I scooped her up with a shovel, and I tossed her in the Dumpster. I knew the rats would get her by morning. And that bastard, he sat there laughing, said, ‘You think that’s the worse thing you ever gonna see?’”
He turned back to Mike, who was tightening the foil over the platter of chicken. “Damn, Jesse. That’s about the saddest thing I ever heard.”
Jesse went to the refrigerator, grabbed a hunk of cheese. “It ain’t the worst thing. The bastard was right. There’s always another worst thing you’re gonna see.” He pulled a knife from a drawer, sat at the table. With a smooth stroke of the blade, he cut a slice of cheese and slid it into his mouth. He shook his head. “You got any crackers?”
Mike got some saltines from the cabinet.
Jesse cut another slice of cheese. “Zeke was all set to move those guns from that pawnshop. And we boost a truck out of gas. We don’t have shit but a fake hundred-dollar bill.” Jesse put the cheese down. “This ain’t real cheese. I can’t eat this.” He sat back, rubbed his belly. “I need something, man, something solid, something easy.”
“Want me to make you a fried-egg sandwich?”
“Yeah, man. That’d be cool. Thanks.”
Good, Mike thought. He’s settling down. He’d never seen a man shift moods as fast as Jesse. You never knew what could set him off, and sometimes it took the simplest thing to calm him back down.
Mike put a skillet on the stove, scooped in some bacon fat, reached into the refrigerator for an egg. He felt Jesse watching him. “You want this on plain bread or toast?”
“Toast. No butter. Just toast.” Jesse’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked. His mother. He clicked the phone off. There’d be hell to pay for this. She would yell, then cry, then give him more jobs to do around the house. Her car would be off limits for a while. He watched Mike leaning over the frying pan, studying the sizzling egg. Zeke cooked like that, studied whatever he cooked in a pot, kept leaning over it, smelling it, stirring it. Made the best fried trout Jesse’d ever had. Mike was tenderly flipping the egg. Jesse watched him. “You do that like Zeke, man. The man loves his food.”
“Did you call him yet?”
“Yeah. While you were making sure your granny was in bed, I called him, said we didn’t do the job.”
Mike put a piece of toast on the plate, slipped the fried egg onto it. “He pissed?”
Jesse shrugged. “And lay that top piece of toast on real gentle. I don’t want it all mashed down.” He watched to make sure Mike did it right. “Nah, he wasn’t pissed. He’s too cool to get pissed. He did this repo once. A man tries to sic his dog on him, big fucking Doberman, Zeke just turns real calm to the back of his truck, pulls out a chain. The dog just studies him. And Zeke, man, he ain’t scared of nothing. He just keeps looking at the man and winding that chain up, getting ready. Man keeps trying to sic that dog, gives it a kick, and it runs up to Zeke like it’s gonna jump, and Zeke just stands there. Dog sniffs at his crotch. And Zeke must have some kind of magic in his crotch ’cause that dog, it just steps back and starts wagging its tail.” Jesse laughed and slapped the table.
Mike put the sandwich on the plate in front of Jesse. “I guess ol’ Zeke’s girlfriend likes that magic in his crotch.”
Jesse glared up at him. “Don’t be talking about her that way. She’s his wife, and she’s a good woman. Nicki Lynn is the only woman in the world worth keeping, or Zeke wouldn’t have her. You gotta be some hell of a woman to catch Zeke. And now they’ve got this baby on the way. Due any day, I guess.” Jesse studied his sandwich, turned the plate to make it look just right. “Yeah, Nicki Lynn. She loves that man. Cooks, cleans, keeps his books. And Zeke, he can’t keep his hands off her. Always patting her head, her ass. Now he just pats that big ol’ baby belly of hers.”
He studied the sandwich. “Thanks, man,” he said. “You make a neat sandwich. All the edges perfect.”
Mike smiled. Jesse was all right on a good day. You just had to keep on his good side. Jesse cut the sandwich in half, dabbed his finger in the yolk running on the plate, tasted it, gave a nod. He took a bite, chewed and swallowed it. “That’s a good egg. Not store-bought.”
Mike gestured toward the backyard. “She’s got Rhode Island Reds back there. She’s kinda known for selling her eggs around here.”
Jesse bit again into the sandwich. He ate it all without stopping. He told Mike he’d take some sweet tea now. He sighed. “Fuck of a day, man. All that planning just to get there five minutes too late. Have to see that Larry closing up, pulling the metal door down over his storefront, locking it up like he runs Fort Knox. We could’ve taken him. But no, he goes walking down that sidewalk, and a damn cop pulls over just to say hey.” He took a cracker from the pack. “Some of Zeke’s best customers are cops. He’s good at playing both sides of the law. Says to me, ‘What’s the difference between a cop and a crook? Nothing, man, a cop’s just a cop until he gets caught, and then he’s a crook like anybody else.’” Jesse stood and looked out the kitchen window. “Hey, Larry,” he whispered. “Yeah, you, Larry of Larry’s Pawnshop and Trade, not you other Larrys out there. You, Larry Watts. You were one lucky bastard on this day. The blue truck, it saved your ass. And you, Larry, you just walk on down that sidewalk and talk to your cop. But they’ll be another day, Larry boy.”
“They’ll be looking for who stole her truck,” Mike said. He was doing the dishes.
Jesse ate another cracker. “Nobody gonna worry about that truck sitting by Lake Waccamaw. First thing her fiancé is gonna think is she ran off to Randy. He said the name like he hated it. Randy. Can’t any bitch besides Nicki Lynn and my mom be happy with one man? And meanwhile, cops will be looking all over Lake Waccamaw. She told me herself she went there all the time.” He raised a finger to Mike. “Her pattern, man. She gave it right to me. You gotta
work your pattern into her pattern, that’s the way you disappear.”
“What about the girl?”
“What the hell is she gonna say?” Jesse shook his head. “Positive, think positive. We gonna be just fine, Michael Man.”
Mike smiled. He liked the way Jesse called him Michael Man. Back in juvy, Jesse wouldn’t let anybody give him shit. “That’s my boy,” he’d say. “Nobody gonna fuck with my boy.” Then he’d call him Michael Man.
“So what’s the next hit gonna be?”
Jesse kept staring out the window. “I’ve got another little piece of action in mind. Right there in Land Fall, just around the block.” He glanced at Mike. “I’m doing this one on my own. It’s a big house. Just a mom and her daughter. They gotta have all kinds of jewelry, crystal, silver. I fit it in my backpack. Zeke fences it. There you go. And that daughter, man, she’s hot. Nice ass, always running around the block. Looks at me, don’t even see me, man. No, the princess, she sees only what she wants to see. Jenny says nobody knows what they’re looking at when they think they’re looking at me.”
Mike took the dishes to the sink, turned on the faucet. “Doesn’t Jenny get nervous around you sometimes?”
Jesse looked at him, squinted like he was making up his mind about something. He refilled his glass with tea, took a long drink. “Not Jenny,” Jesse said, “I’ve known her since we were kids. A hippy chick. Why would I screw things up with a girl who gives me free massages anytime I want? Says she has to practice on somebody to get her license.” He smiled. “And she likes that somebody to be me.”
Mike washed the dishes, set them in the drain, kept his eyes off Jesse. “So you two really have something. She ain’t just some chick.”
Jesse rummaged in the cabinet, found a bag of cookies. Mike knew there were just a few left. He’d been saving them for his granny “Yeah, we got a thing. None of that going-steady shit, just a thing.” He shoved the last of the cookies into his mouth and rubbed the back of Mike’s head the way he would a dog. “I’m staying here tonight,” he said. “In the morning you gotta drive me back home.”
“Man, I can’t take my car. Cops might be looking for my car. I get pulled over just for being in your neighborhood in that piece of shit I drive.”
“Don’t worry. Nobody remembers half the shit that walks right by. They just see what they want. People don’t notice anything. I thought you knew that an eyewitness is the worst lead a cop can have. How many people notice what kind of car you drive?” Jesse walked across the kitchen and looked out the window toward the lights of a distant neighbor’s house. “Take you and me here. You think anybody noticed us pull up in your granny’s drive? No, they’re all watching some trash on the television. Shit, you think the folks in my hood see who I am?”
“You don’t live in a hood.”
“No, it’s a gated community. I’m inside the gate keeps the bad dudes out, right? My daddy’s got money. People see him, think he’s my old man. People see me, think I’m one of the luckiest guys in the world.”
Mike wished he had some more dope. The only weed left was in Jesse’s pocket. “So,” he said, “you want to finish up that weed?”
“Nah,” Jesse said. “I’m saving it.” He turned, stared out the kitchen window into the darkness. From where Mike sat, he could see Jesse’s distorted reflection. The eyes narrowed, sharp cut of his jaw. He was good-looking, but sometimes when his face went a certain way, he looked like some kind of fiend. Mike wished he had that. If he lost some weight, worked out, maybe if he changed his hair, he could be something like Jesse: the guy the chicks wanted, the man who didn’t give a damn.
Jesse exhaled a whistling breath between his teeth. “This place I’m gonna hit. Rich lady. College girl, long red hair. Nice. Drives around in this silver Sebring with the top down.” Jesse leaned against the counter, rubbed his belly. “Man, my stomach still ain’t right. Your granny got any Coke? I could use a Coke. That always eases me.”
Mike shrugged. He knew there was one Coke in the fridge behind the milk, but that was his granny’s Coke. She liked to save it for when she got a sour stomach. “Ice water might help.” He took out some ice cubes, dropped them in a glass, ran the water cold. Jesse drank a few sips, ran his tongue over his teeth, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know they got some good shit in that house, man. It’d be easy. Her momma works, spends evenings out, I’ll bet in one of those I’m-rich-and-divorced-so-help-me support groups. And this chick, she’s in and out of school, out with this baby-faced boyfriend. And man, she’s running around in these shorts. Whew. Runs right by me, doesn’t even look.” Jesse rubbed his belly again, looked around the kitchen.
Mike nodded. “Just don’t get caught, man. Like Zeke told you, it ain’t smart to mess around in your own hood.”
“My folks, they’ll always cover me.” Jesse grinned. “Remember that crack whore? The one they popped me for?” Jesse opened the refrigerator, and as if he knew where it was, he pushed the milk aside, grabbed the Coke. Mike knew he’d have to slip out in the morning and buy another one for his granny. Jesse twisted the top off, sipped. “Good thing she had a record. Drugs, shoplifting, bad checks, credit cards. I nearly did time for that one.” He went into the living room, opened the front door, looked out, took in a long breath, let it go. “Now I’ve got two years suspended hanging over my head.” He stood in the doorway, rolled his shoulders. “Is that fucked or what?”
Mike could see the tension in his back just by the way he moved. When he got this tight, Mike had to be careful. Jenny at the marina had to be a pretty cool chick if she was willing to rub Jesse’s back. Mike took the quilt off his granny’s chair, laid it on the couch. He arranged a pillow and gave Jesse a grin so he wouldn’t take things too seriously. “You put her in a coma for two weeks.” Jesse rolled his head to loosen his neck. Mike could hear a pop. “You scare me sometimes, the risks you take, man.”
“Don’t you worry.” Jesse drained the Coke. He stood there, muscles bulging as he squeezed the doorframe in his hands “You ever just want to pull a house down?”
Mike shook his head.
“I want to be like the night, man. Be like the dark seeping into everything when the sun goes down.” He turned, shut the door, locked it, and grinned. “What this world needs is a little more awareness.”
Mike stood. “What I need right now is some sleep.”
Jesse walked to the couch. “I’m crashing. Take me home in the morning.”
“All right,” Mike said. “I’ll take you home, but I got to leave you at the gate. I don’t like the way that guard looks at me. That all right with you?”
“Yeah. That’ll be all right.” Jesse dropped flat on the couch and closed his eyes. “Thanks, man.”
Mike knew that was Jesse’s way of saying goodnight. He stood in the doorway, waited until he could hear the regular deep breathing of Jesse asleep, then crept down the hallway leading to his granny’s room, where he would turn off the TV, sit in the big chair at her bedside, and take comfort in the quiet sound of her breath until he sank into his own sleep, forgetting the awful mess of the day. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the darkness of his grandmother’s room. She had turned off her light. Hadn’t waited for him to come tuck her in the way she liked. He wanted his granny to be awake; just her voice would give a little comfort. Still, he crept into her room, sat in the chair, hoping being near his granny would make him feel all right. But there was no consolation, just the memory of that blue-truck girl. The touch of her hand on his arm. He tried to think of her running in the dark, trying to get to some guy’s house. Some guy named Randy. So what if she screwed around on her fiancé? He closed his eyes and tried to see her finding her way in the dark, knocking on some guy named Randy’s house. Then he felt the touch of her hand again, her saying he should know her name. It wasn’t over with the blue-truck girl. He was pretty sure of that.
He shuddered, tried to shake off the feeling. But he could still see Jesse standing ou
t in that field. Calling to the girl to come on. She stood by the car. Mike told her to go on, to do what Jesse wanted, and it would be all right. He wanted her to get away from his car, wanted to roll up the window, lock the door. He could feel her looking at him. But he wouldn’t look up from his hands gripping the wheel. “Talk to me,” she said. “What’s your name?” He glanced up, looked away. Then she reached in, squeezed his arm. He flinched, said, “What you doing?” He pulled away from her, ducked down, leaned closer to his hands on the wheel. “My name is Katy,” she said. “You need to know my name.” He kept his head down, didn’t want to look at her, and when he looked up, she was gone. And before he knew it, Jesse was throwing a screwdriver at him, giving him all kinds of hell.
Mike pulled the chair closer to his grandmother’s bed. He told himself it was like Jesse said, there were always worse things. He leaned back in the chair, listened to the soft sound of his granny’s breathing. It would be all right. Yeah, it was a waste of a day. Nothing went like they’d planned, but it would be all right. But he couldn’t shake the feel of that girl’s hand. There’d be no leaving that girl named Katy behind.
Just Nature She Loved, Flowers and Fangs and All
The old woman liked to watch the night from her back porch. In the old days, she did laundry there, wringer washer, hung clothes on a line out back, strung them up in the kitchen in winter months. Now she had an electric washer, dryer, heat, and air conditioners. All stuff her daughter bought her, insisted that she have. Now her daughter was trying to talk her into getting a burglar alarm. “Everybody knows you live out there by yourself. Anything could happen to you.”
But the old woman wasn’t worried. She’d lived a long life and seen a lot of things. Sure, she lived alone, but folks knew she had nothing in her house worth stealing, and they probably figured she had her husband’s old .22. She could still see clearly and wasn’t afraid of pulling a trigger.
