Three Sides of the Tracks

by Mike Addington

  Preston pushed himself upright but, before he could stand, the lead end of Iggy’s pool stick cracked against his skull and Preston’s knees buckled like a deflated balloon.

  Jessie stepped out of the Lincoln and looked around. “This man owes me money and don’t wanna pay,” he said in a loud voice, turning as he spoke to give each of the bystanders a good look at who was talking. “I hate when it comes to this, but we all have to pay our bills. Even in these tough times.” He shrugged as if it were all out of his control. “I tried to help him, and this is what I get for my trouble,” Jessie added. “Just can’t be good to some people.”

  He knelt, pulled out his handkerchief and held it against Preston’s bleeding scalp for a few seconds before handing it to the fallen man. “Keep pressure on it. Should stop in a minute. You might need an aspirin or two though,” he added with a chuckle.

  “Son of a bitch,” Preston mumbled.

  Jessie patted him on the shoulder. “Make sure you come by and see me next week, or you’ll be calling me worse than that. Just so you know I’m not that bad of a guy, I’m gonna knock a little off your interest because of that knot on your head.”

  He poked Preston with the toe of his shoe. “But if I hear any sirens on my way out, the price is going back up. You hear me?”

  “Get the hell outta my yard. You’d better not ever come to my house again either.”

  Jessie laughed. “Let’s go boys. I think Mr. Gowens here knows where we stand.”

  * * *

  Jessie left Iggy and Deadhead and drove to Marietta, in the northern section of metro Atlanta. A cinder-block building with a sign reading “Sure Fire Check Cashing” sat off to one side of a strip mall. Cameras on the roof covered every inch of ground around the building. On each side of the lobby were two-foot-square, blacked-out windows with a four-inch-wide by one-foot-long metal panel five feet above the floor bisecting the windows. Inside that panel was a sliding metal bar that could be opened only from the inside to allow someone access to fire a weapon into the lobby. And there were plenty of weapons from which to choose.

  A worker shielded by bullet-proof glass looked at the few customers and satisfied there was no threat buzzed open the door for Jessie.

  Two large men and a stocky woman took the customers’ checks and deducted anywhere from ten to eighteen percent depending on what company issued the check. Government workers received a better rate because of the low risk and number of workers. The people who came here couldn’t get bank accounts for one reason or another or just didn’t like banks. They didn’t like Sure Fire either but had no other choice, considering the exorbitant rates others charged.

  “How’s business?” Jessie said.

  Wanda shifted the heavy .44 Magnum pistol in her belt and turned around. She pushed a ledger toward Jessie.

  His eyes wandered down one page then he flipped it over and scanned the next page.

  A hundred twenty grand today and they were still coming in. Probably hit two hundred thousand before midnight when he closed. He’d clear ten percent of that after overhead.

  “What about yesterday?”

  “Better,” Wanda said. “Three hundred twenty-one, plus.”

  Jessie walked over and stood between her and Jimmy, put a hand on each one’s shoulder. “Might have to give y’all a raise if it keeps up like this, huh?”

  He waited a second for effect. “Naaahhhh,” he said and laughed heartily.

  Wanda and the others smiled, used to Jessie’s humor.

  They might not get a raise, but, if something came up and they needed money, Jessie never hesitated. He’d pull a roll of hundreds from his pocket and start peeling.

  Not too long ago, he’d come in on a day just like today and saw Wanda in tears. Her mother had died after wasting away with cancer for the last two years. Jessie pulled out his wad and didn’t even count, just separated a couple inches of hundreds and handed the money to her. “For the funeral,” he said and never mentioned it again.

  Anybody planning to rob Sure Fire would have to kill Wanda first, and that wouldn’t be so easy to do. Same with the other two.

  “Well, looks like I don’t have to worry ‘bout y’all. See you later,” Jessie said and left.

  * * *

  Jessie pinched one nostril and snorted through the glass tube, breathing deep. Slumped in the chair with his head back and a euphoric expression on his face, he jutted his lower jaw to stretch the skin and pushed it upward in a vain attempt to stop the sagging. After a few minutes, he reached for the can of Budweiser and gulped what was left. The mahogany walls of his room vibrated with the sound of Lynard Skynard. Two, six-foot vertical Bose speakers sat in the far corners of the room and throbbed out the beat. He never tired of the old songs.

  He opened a desk drawer, brushed aside one of his pistols, which were stashed throughout the house, and unlocked a small lockbox. He withdrew a small ledger, eyes wandering down the pages. He loved to look at his assets: He’d reach 25 million soon. The numbers on the ledger made him feel more powerful than the cocaine. After all, power was really what counted.

  At the last page, his mood changed, and he banged the table with a heavy fist. A million dollar charge off for that scumbag in Atlanta who had run off—skipped his court date, which made his bonding company liable for the bond.

  Jessie’s hand trembled with anger as he reached for the Crown Royal. He heard a tap on the door before it eased open.

  Caroline’s golden hair hung tangled down her shoulders as she stepped through the door. “Daddy, are you okay?”

  A smile sprang to his face. “Yes, baby, I’m fine. Just business. Got a little too excited.”

  Caroline perched on an armrest and laid a lazy hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you come up and go to bed so you’ll feel good for church in the morning?”

  “In a little while, baby. Just have a few more things to go over,” Jessie said, not quite ready to give up the coke and whiskey for the night, even for his daughter.

  Caroline remained still a few more moments but decided not to mention the alcohol she smelled. He would just get defensive, irritable. She yawned then pecked him on the cheek as she stood up. “Okay, I’m going back to sleep. Come up soon, okay?”

  “Sure. In just a little while. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine for church.”

  Caroline smiled faintly and nodded. “Yeah, with a little help from your cocaine,” she told herself as she shut the door behind her. She didn’t like to confront him with it. Although she hated the way he bullied her mother—and everyone else for that matter—she had a soft spot for him because she knew how much he loved her. She was probably the only thing he did love, except for the money of course. She wondered which he would choose if he had to: her or the money. She guessed it would be the money.

  Jessie; his wife, Marie; and Caroline sat in their usual seats halfway down the middle section of pews in the First Methodist Church of Benton, Georgia, 45 miles southeast of Atlanta, Jessie sitting next to the aisle where he could make his getaway as soon as the service was over. They arrived about ten minutes before the service began, Marie’s revenge for Jessie waking her up at three-thirty in the morning when he finally came to bed. Since he was too hung over to think straight and bother checking the clock, she had fussed all morning that they were running late.

  The preacher made a beeline from the front and stood over Jessie with a broad and practiced smile. “Jessie, Jessie, how are you?” he said as he grabbed Jessie’s hand and began pumping. One look at Jessie’s bloodshot eyes, and the preacher’s moved to Marie and Caroline. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it Marie? Miss Caroline, how are you?”

  Caroline nodded and smiled.

  “Yes, it is a fine summer day, Reverend Holcomb. Good to see you,” Marie said.

  The preacher gathered his courage and leaned down. “Jessie, could you come by the office one day this week? Anytime would be fine.”

  Jessie scowled. “You want to see me or Tom?” he said referri
ng to Tom Chambers, his accountant.

  Marie overheard the exchange and jabbed Jessie with her elbow.

  “Never mind. Yeah, I’ll give you a call.”

  Reverend Holcomb stepped back relieved, blessing Marie under his breath.

  Marie liked her status in the church and community and would make sure Jessie came by. Jessie always came through with the “special” gifts the reverend asked of him from time to time, except for the one time the reverend approached him without Marie present. Holcomb made sure not to repeat that mistake again.

  “Will y’all be here for the concert tonight?” the reverend asked, still clutching Jessie’s hand.

  Jessie pulled his hand away and grumbled something unintelligible.

  “We sure will. Caroline and I enjoy them, but I don’t think Jessie appreciates the cultural events that much,” Marie said, finishing the last part of the sentence with a dour look at Jessie. She made the most of his hangovers. It was the only time he wasn’t abusing her.

  Her voice carried like a drone to Jessie. He paid little attention to what she said and cared even less.

  A group walked through the doorway to the left of the pulpit, most of them coming from Sunday school. A well-dressed, classically handsome woman in her mid-thirties came through and caught Jessie’s attention. She was followed by an athletically built young man who held open the door. The expression on his face left no doubt he felt uncomfortable. Part of it was the lip. He had a small but noticeable cleft palate on the right side, and he tucked his chin low as he walked up the aisle.

  Caroline waved and the young man looked their way. The self-conscious expression disappeared as he grinned from ear to ear.

  Jessie leaned across Marie and glared at Caroline, furiously jabbing a pointed finger in her face. “You, you, . . .” he sputtered.

  Caroline lowered her eyes.

  Jessie jerked his head back around to glare at the young man, but he’d already seen what happened and turned away, following his mother up the aisle. The only reason he was here today was because it was his mother’s birthday and he’d promised, which was something he swore never to do again.

  “That son of a . . .,” Jessie sprang to his feet and crossed the three-aisle difference between the preacher and himself in one step. He grabbed Holcomb by the arm and almost dragged him to the foyer.

  The preacher was too startled to speak.

  Hand trembling, Jessie pointed to Danny. “I want that boy out of here, and I mean right now.”

  Holcomb looked and saw that “the boy” was Belinda Taylor’s son, whom he’d met when visiting Belinda. His face blanched. “Jessie, I can’t ask anyone to leave the Lord’s house, to leave a church service. Belinda’s been a member here for years.” His face regained some of its color. “What has the boy done to make you—?”

  “Don’t you worry about that. If you want anymore donations from me, or my family,” he added with raised eyebrows, “you’ll get that hair-lipped boy outta here. I don’t care about the woman—”

  “No need referring to the young man that way, Jessie. And that’s his mother, formerly Belinda Hathaway, lawyer Stuart Hathaway’s daughter, you’re talking about,” Holcomb said, assuming that the name would impress Jessie and soften his demands.

  “I don’t care if she’s Queen Elizabeth; get the boy outta here.” Jessie leaned toward the preacher until he was almost nose to nose. Holcomb could smell the stale whiskey. “I ain’t tellin’ you again.”

  Jessie strode back to his pew and glared at Caroline.

  Reverend Holcomb ignored the condemning eyes of the greeting committee, who passed out service programs in the foyer. He paced while he thought and tried to swallow but had no saliva. Rising anger and pride fought with ambition and duty, the latter two dependent on Jessie’s donations.

  An irreverent curse crossed Holcomb’s mind, then he walked halfway down the outer aisle to where Belinda and Danny were sitting, oblivious to the fact that a third of the congregation was staring at him because of the grotesque expression on his face, caused by the turmoil racing through his mind.

  He leaned across the couple sitting next to the aisle and spoke as low as possible. “Belinda, would you and your son come with me, please?”

  Belinda hesitated, but the reverend had such a strange expression on his face that she was concerned about him and didn’t want to draw any more attention than she was sure had already been drawn.

  A bewildered expression on her face, she turned to Danny, who glared at Reverend Holcomb.

  Belinda patted Danny’s hand. “Come on. Let’s see what he wants.”

  Holcomb stood aside to usher them out, and, in gentlemanly fashion, gestured back down the aisle to the entrance foyer.

  “Belinda, I don’t know what to say,” Reverend Holcomb said, obviously flustered. He glanced at Danny, then back to Belinda. He sighed gravely.

  “I’m late for the service as is, and all I can really say at the present is that one of the um, um, more influential members who the church depends on heavily for contributions has, well, there’s no other way to put it, I suppose, has objected to the young man’s presence and demanded he leave. I find it tremendously objectionable myself. The request that is, and, if there were more time, I’d get to the bottom of it. But would you do me the huge favor of . . .” Holcomb could not bring himself to ask someone to leave church.

  “Come on, Mother. You’re too good for this bunch anyway,” Danny said, glaring at Holcomb with a murderous expression.

  The shock was too much for Belinda. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor.

  Danny grabbed his mother before her head hit the floor and lowered her down.

  The men passing out programs rushed over. “Call 911,” Tommy Brake told his colleague.

  Members of the congregation sitting in the back pews saw Belinda collapse and rushed out to see what was happening. The rest of the congregation followed like sheep.

  Jessie jumped up. He slapped Caroline’s hand away as she grabbed his coat and bulled his way through the crowd until he was standing next to Reverend Holcomb.

  “What’s the matter with her?” he said coarsely. “Stay out too late last night,” he added with a sneer and contemptuous look at Danny.

  Danny dropped the damp cloth Tommy Brake had given him and stepped over Belinda’s body. His sky-blue eyes turned icy, and his fingers closed around a handful of Jessie’s shirt collar. “You’re the cause of this,” he said, then drew back his other hand.

  The shock in Jessie’s eyes made Danny pause. He shoved Jessie backwards and lowered his hands. “You’re a lucky man. My mother wouldn’t want me fighting in church; otherwise, you’d—”

  Jessie regained his composure. “You’d better stay away from my daughter is what you’d better do, buster. Lucky man? Lucky man, my ass. I’ve had it with you. Told you for the last time to stay away from Caroline. Not going to listen though, are you tough guy? Somebody needs to teach you some respect. Don’t look like your mother’s doin’ too good a job.” Jessie sneered and looked around the crowd as he said the last part.

  Big Tommy Brake was ready and grabbed Danny in a bear hug. “Ignore the idiot,” Tommy whispered. “Take care of your mother.”

  Danny’s eyes blazed, and he struggled to free himself, but Tommy had a firm grip.

  “C’mon, kid, that’s what he wants,” Tommy said.

  The words took a moment to work their way through Danny’s rage, but then his head cleared. He looked at Tommy appreciatively and nodded. Tommy released his hold, and Danny knelt beside Reverend Holcomb, who was keeping a cold wet cloth to Belinda’s forehead while wiping her face with another.

  The paramedics arrived and cleared the foyer. After they worked on her a few minutes, Belinda woke from her faint.

  Jessie strode back down the aisle. “Where’s Caroline? We’re leaving.”

  “She left . . . shortly after you slapped her hand away,” Marie added with a distasteful expression.


  “Her butt better be at the car. I’m not waitin’. Let’s go.”

  Marie followed him to the car. No Caroline.

  Jessie banged the roof. “Damn it. What’s got into that girl?”

  “Nothing has gotten into her. What’s gotten into you? What possessed you to intimidate Reverend Holcomb into asking Belinda to leave church? That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen you do. And that’s saying a lot.”

  “It wasn’t the woman. It’s that kid. He’s trouble, and I’ve told Caroline a thousand times I don’t want her hanging around him. Then he comes sashaying down the aisle like he’s somebody. He’s trash, and I won’t stand for it. Caroline waving to him. Him, with that deformed lip. Ugh. That took the cake.”

  “He can’t help that his lip is abnormal, and she’s too old for you to be telling her who to associate with.”

  “Damned if that’s so. Not as long as she’s under my roof. She ain’t ruinin’ my reputation, gettin’ herself all messed up too. Hanging around with the likes of him ain’t gettin’ her nowhere but trouble.”

  “What has he done? I’ve not heard one single thing bad about him. He’s never been arrested or anything, has he?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. No, not that I know of. But, if he ain’t, he should have. I’m sure he’s done plenty. Just ain’t been caught is all. Just ain’t been caught.”

  “Caroline might’ve started walking home,” Marie said.

  “Seven miles is a good-sized hike, but she’d do it just to spite me,” Jessie said.

  “It wouldn’t be to spite you, Jessie, but because of you.”

  “You’d better watch that smart mouth of yours too. I’ve about had enough for one morning,” Jessie snarled, along with a look that implied he wasn’t above physical abuse if she continued.

  Marie averted her eyes and looked out the window.

  Two miles from the church, Jessie pulled the car alongside the familiar figure.

  Caroline gazed straight ahead without breaking stride.