Cooper smiled. “Oh, it’s gonna be that kind of night, is it?”
Darla squealed in her grandfather’s lap at the prospect. He kissed his granddaughter and bounced her on his knee some more.
“Hold up,” Harlon said. He leaned forward in his chair, squinted hard at the man with the gun to his head, and then sat back with an incredulous little chuckle. “Well, I’ll be goddamned…if it ain’t Travis fucking Roy.”
Chapter 16
“Travis?” Trudy said. “My brother Tucker’s boy?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Travis said.
“Caught him snooping around outside,” Wayne said.
“You do that to him?” Cooper asked, gesturing towards Travis’s broken nose.
“No. Did come close to puttin’ a hole in his head though. Except he come with one hell of a story to tell.” He tucked a lock of his long dark hair behind an ear and looked at Harlon. “You know what that story might be about, Harlon?”
All eyes fell on Harlon. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t know no story. I ain’t seen the boy in years. I been playing dead all this time, in case you didn’t notice.” He then looked Travis up and down. “How you been, boy? You grew some.”
“You didn’t,” Travis said, gesturing to Harlon’s predicament in his chair.
Harlon chuckled. “Paralysis was temporary. Well, at least from my neck down it was. Both my legs are fucked proper, though. Feeling came back soon after them sons of bitches left me for dead on that riverbank. Crawled my way into hiding. Gators even let me be on that bank. Always did have a bond with them, if you recall. Kindred spirits we are. Even got a few new babies ’round back if you wanna see ’em. Big bastards. You always did like to look at my flock when you was little.”
“I don’t wanna see them,” Travis said flatly.
Harlon shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Cooper Roy stood, wiped sweat from his bald head. His thick chest heaved with authority as he spoke. “All right, so just what the hell is this? Travis, what business you got with us that sees you poking around this far up the river? It only takes a short time to forget how the swamp goes, boy. You been spending all that time at that fancy school up north. Wayne blowing your head off would have been the least of your problems out here—’specially at night.”
Travis looked at Harlon. “Never told them, did you, Harlon?”
“Told them what?” Cooper said. “What the hell you on about, boy?”
“About where I been all this time.”
Aunt Trudy stepped forward. “Where you been? We got word judge sent you up north in exchange for your daddy’s full confession.”
“Go on, Harlon,” Travis said. “I’ll give you a chance to come clean. I know that you know. And in the future I’d suggest you don’t go keeping company with bootleggers who like a good secret more than they do a drink. For a man that’s supposed to be dead, you sure do take a risk or two, don’t you?”
Cooper thudded forward, poked his thick finger into Harlon’s chest. “Took my fucking boat, didn’t you, you son of a bitch? Dragged your crippled ass into my fucking boat when you was on your own.” He turned to Trudy. “Didn’t I tell you someone had been? Didn’t I?” Back to Harlon. “Took my fucking boat, you crippled prick!” He spat at Harlon’s feet.
Darla began a twirl and a song. “Crippled prick! Crippled prick! Crippled prick!”
“Goddammit, girl, shut the fuck up!” Harlon yelled.
Wayne shoved Travis aside and was on Harlon in two giant strides, smashing his fist into Harlon’s nose. Harlon’s head rocked back and then sprung forward. Blood immediately gushed from his nose.
Wayne ran a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes, bent, and got in Harlon’s face. “Something else you wanna say to my little girl, Harlon?”
Travis remained where he was, making no attempt to leave.
Blood from his nose was already framing Harlon’s mouth, reddening his scraggly goatee. He wiped it away as he would foam from a beer, leaned his head back, and threw up his hands. “Oh, for the love of…all right! I knew, I knew! Boy didn’t go up north; he was at Hattenworth the whole time, all right? Everyone happy now? Jesus H. Christ!”
“Hattenworth?” Trudy said. She looked at Cooper, her one good eye none too pleased. “Heard of that place. Hell on Earth, they call it.”
Harlon rolled his eyes, continued wiping away blood as he spoke. “Oh, sure, everyone knows the name, everyone knows the stories. Place has been around forever—can’t be that damn bad, otherwise they’d have shut it down by now.”
Trudy looked at Travis. “How they treat you there, Travis?”
Travis hesitated a moment. Then: “I wouldn’t even wish my stay on Harlon there, ma’am.”
Trudy glared Harlon’s way, then turned back on Travis with as nurturing a look as Trudy Roy was capable of: “You call me Aunt Trudy, you hear?”
Travis nodded. “If you say.”
“Wish it on me?” Harlon blurted. “What problem you got with me, boy? Was your daddy’s lawyer that fucked you, not me.”
“Boy was sent to a school because he had no family left,” Trudy said. “You coulda come forward, Harlon.”
“How the hell was I supposed to come forward? I was supposed to be dead!”
“And after Tucker’s confession?” Cooper said. “Coulda come forward then without bother.”
“And how the hell you know that, Coop?” Harlon countered. “You know as much about law as I do: jack shit.”
“Well, then how about this?” Trudy broke in. “How about you shoulda at least told us about the boy. We coulda gone down and claimed him as one of our own. Saved him from that place.”
Harlon actually started laughing. “You think Tucker would want that? Hell, he kept y’all a secret from the boy for a reason. Fucking ‘batshit crazy,’ he used to refer to his little sister—” He waved a hand over everyone on the porch. “To all of you! He didn’t want his boy staying with the likes of you.”
“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black,” Cooper said.
“Oh, gimme a break, Coop. Tucker was a mean son of a bitch, but he had morals, the dummy. Christ, it’s the whole damn reason he’s rotting away in Clarke CI. Conscience got the better of him.” Harlon wiped away the last of the blood around his nose and mouth. “Besides, you went down and claimed the boy, and you would have lost your advantage. More Roys coming out of hiding? How would that go with all the crazy shit y’all get up to? I seen the worst, and hell, even I get the willies from y’all sometimes.”
Cooper pointed a finger towards Travis but kept his eyes on Harlon. “He’s family. You don’t turn your back on family. Just like we didn’t turn our back on you, despite the burden you been.”
Harlon rolled his eyes again. “You wanna talk burden?” He gestured to Travis. “Boy was weak as piss. Would have been nothing but a nuisance to y’all if you took him in.”
“Looks fit enough to me,” Cooper said, glancing Travis’s way.
“Well, sure—now. Hattenworth obviously toughened him up some. Didn’t used to be as such, I can tell you that. Boy jumped at his own shadow. In fact, the whole goddamn mess was on account of his getting his little ass kicked and then lying about it to save himself a hiding from his meemaw.”
“You don’t turn your back on family,” Trudy said. “Ever.”
Harlon shook his head. “Well, aren’t y’all just a bunch of the most hypocritical sons of bitches I ever met. Preaching honor and loyalty, and at the same time bringing some poor fools home to play with here and there when you get yourselves bored.”
No one spoke for a spell. Swamp life that thrived at night called to one another in the distance. The river flowed beneath them. Insects batted the screens.
“So, what’s it going to be then?” Harlon asked. “You come for some vengeance, Travis? That it?” He shot everyone else a look. “And y’all are fixing to allow it? Gonna be hypocrites again by killing me when you just said
you don’t ever turn your back on family?”
“Who said anything about killing you?” Travis said. He approached Harlon. Stood inches from his chair and stared down at him.
Wayne whispered something to Cooper and Trudy behind them. They nodded and gathered behind Travis, resolute. Cooper bent, picked up Darla, and placed her on his broad shoulders. She grinned down at Harlon, absently rubbing the sweat around her grandfather’s bald head.
Harlon looked past Travis. “What the fuck y’all whispering about back there?” He then gestured up at Darla. “What’s that crazy little thing grinning about?”
Wayne went towards Harlon again at the mention of his daughter, but Cooper’s firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Cooper needn’t say anything for Wayne to nod in compliance and stay where he was.
Harlon now looked up at Travis with a twitchy try at bravado. “So whatcha gonna do, boy? Huh? You just said you wasn’t gonna kill me.”
“And I’m not,” Travis said. “What I am gonna do is fix you the way everyone thought you was on that riverbank years back.”
Harlon frowned. “What the hell are you—what the hell are those for?”
Travis had pulled a sizable pair of handheld bolt cutters from his waistband and was brandishing them before Harlon.
Travis said nothing in reply. Only inched his way behind Harlon’s chair.
“Now hold on! Wait just a goddamn minute!” Harlon cried, head going back and forth over each shoulder, frantically hoping for a glimpse at what Travis was up to.
Travis spoke coolly, almost appraisingly, like a man weighing options before investing in something. “Read about this, but never really tried it before.” He glanced up at the family, who was now watching with great interest, and though his next words were darkly humorous, Travis delivered them with no such intent. “If I end up killing him, I didn’t mean it.”
Wayne snickered. Darla spotted her father’s amusement and parroted his snicker, bouncing on Cooper’s shoulders.
“Read about what?! Do what?! Do WHAT?!” Harlon’s arms flailed wildly, reaching behind his chair, snatching at anything he could.
Travis glanced up. His gaze went between Cooper and Wayne. “Any chance you wanna give me a hand?”
Wayne nodded. Cooper took Darla off his shoulders and set her next to Trudy. Both men approached Harlon.
“Get away from me!” Harlon cried. “Get the fuck away from me, you hear!”
Wayne and Cooper each took an arm, pinning it to the armrests of Harlon’s chair. He resisted to no avail. Unlike many paraplegics, Harlon’s upper-body strength was not significant from years of operating a wheelchair. With the exception of his secret journeys in Cooper’s boat to meet his drinking buddy for moonshine in remote spots along the river (a significant struggle that sometimes made him question its worth), Harlon hardly moved around at all. The result was an upper body both flabby and weak.
“Got him?” Travis asked.
Cooper and Wayne nodded.
“Go on, son,” Cooper added.
Travis took a firm stance behind Harlon’s chair. Wrapped his forearm around Harlon’s neck and held tight to keep his head immobile.
His voice now his only defense, Harlon pleaded: “Please oh please oh please oh please oh please!”
Travis stabbed, then dug the small steel jaws of the bolt cutter in between Harlon’s shoulder blades, searching for his spine.
Harlon screamed, eyes bulging, chest protruding in a feeble bid to escape the bolt cutter’s jaws. All three men tightened their hold on him. Travis continued digging. Worked the jaws into the precise spot he was after. Then, with a grunt, brought the handles together in his palm with one convulsive snap, severing Harlon’s spine.
Harlon went completely limp. Head flopping onto his chest, arms dropping at their sides.
“Is he dead?” Trudy asked.
Cooper gripped Harlon’s scalp and raised his head. Harlon blinked and moaned.
“Nope,” Cooper said. Then to Travis, gesturing for the bolt cutters: “Gimme those, Travis.”
Travis handed them over. Cooper took them and placed Harlon’s pinky finger in between the cutter’s jaws. “You feel this, Harlon?”
A quick snip, like pruning a small branch, and the finger fell to the ground.
Harlon’s reaction was not one of pain, but disbelief. He cried out and stared helplessly at the hand that now held four digits instead of five.
Darla screeched at the sight, started clapping. She bent to pick the finger up.
“Darla, no,” Trudy said.
Cooper put a hand across his daughter’s chest, hushing her.
Darla carried on, climbing onto Harlon’s unresisting lap. Severed finger in hand, she began poking him with it. Poking him in a face that was once governed by a working neck. “Cripple fuck! Cripple fuck! Cripple fuck!” she sang, prodding after each exclamation.
The family laughed in unison. Harlon could only sit and take it. There was no rage or anger in his eyes. Only terror. Terror for the uselessness of the fleshy shell he now had to occupy for as long as these insane people deemed appropriate.
“Cripple fuck! Cripple fuck! Cripple fuck!” Darla continued to bounce on Harlon’s lap, continued to poke his unresisting face with his own severed finger, the family behind her now grinning, clapping along in rhythm as Darla sang.
Travis, clapping along innocuously with everyone else, slowly inched his way to one side to make sure he caught Harlon’s eye. When the two pairs locked, Travis winked.
Chapter 17
The Roy den, smelling of wood, mold, and sweat—always sweat—was the largest room in the house and a prime gathering spot for the family, second only to the porch. And it was here that Travis chose to wander off and sit alone while the sound of the family singing and clapping from the porch echoed its way into the den, as though he’d wandered off from a party. And he supposed he had.
“You all right, son?”
Travis, his back to the porch, glanced over his shoulder.
Cooper Roy, bald and barrel-chested and sweaty as ever, stood in the doorway. He was technically smiling, yet what lay behind the smile was up for grabs. It certainly wasn’t right.
Travis had learned long ago that smiles were like masks. Sometimes, if the mask was flimsy, you could see behind it, its true intentions. Sometimes, the mask could be skin tight, a difficult read.
The eldest Roy’s smile now was a tough read, a tight mask, but years of abuse always starting with the guise of a smile had shaped Travis’s eye into a keen tool that allowed him glimpses behind nearly any mask. What he saw in Cooper’s smile confirmed what his father had said to him earlier: These people did bad things for fun.
Indeed, Cooper’s smile was parallel to that of a lecherous man who had just finished his turn and was now taking a break while his friends took theirs with the unfortunate in the next room. And like the analogy of wandering away from the party, this too was apt: The friends were enjoying themselves in the next room; the echoes of their glee had not abated in the slightest after Cooper’s departure, Darla’s constant screeches of delight perhaps even louder than before.
“Fine,” Travis said. He withdrew his makeshift tattoo needle and placed it on the table.
“What you got there?” Cooper asked.
Travis held up the needle, then brandished his forearm. “Harlon makes five,” he said, gesturing to the four slashes after “rationem.”
“Who are the four? Or should I say: Who were the four?”
Travis turned back to preparing the needle. Over his shoulder, he said: “People with accounts past due.”
“Come again?”
Travis glanced back at him again. “People who got what they had coming.”
Cooper, smile now gone, nodded slowly as though weighing Travis’s response. “I see. You got a number six in mind?”
Travis turned back to his needle. “I don’t know…maybe.”
And this was the truth. Problem was, the truth w
as muddier and darker than the water flowing beneath them. Travis would love nothing more than for number six to be the lawyer who’d sent him to Hattenworth. But such a man would be impossible to get to. And this was where the truth became muddied and dark: Travis was considering a surrogate.
The hate inside him had not abated, even at the sight of Harlon’s torment. It was stronger than ever. He’d spent a good deal of free time at Hattenworth reading, studying psychology, especially as it relates to the evil in man. What he learned had boiled down to two things: Evil is either born or made. Or, most horrifying of all, both.
Travis was certainly not born evil; he knew that. But made evil? He took great pleasure in avenging his name on those who’d wronged him, but was there not too much pleasure? Something beyond his initial goal of a reckoning? And what of the thoughts that tantalized him about a surrogate? Would that too not be as enjoyable? More so, perhaps? Like a man getting better at his craft and taking pride in his work? And was this not his craft now? The one thing he’d proved to be good at? Had his mind been turned? Made evil? And like all evil men who are technically sane, do they not enjoy it, have a genuine taste for it?
Cooper over there—along with the rest of the family—was born evil. No question. In addition to this, their habitually brutal ways, unquestionably honed over the years, made them evil, giving them that horrifying combination of both. The more they did, the more they liked it. And Travis supposed he was on a similar path. That those muddy waters of truth were only muddy on the surface. Beneath, the water was much clearer—he’d been made bad. And realization of this truth was no deterrent. He was a man who knew he was a drunk, yet did not want, nor had any intention, to stop. Did, in fact, want to drink more than ever.
“Maybe, huh?” Cooper nodded slowly again, considering him. “Wouldn’t be thinking of adding any of us to that arm of yours, would you, boy?”
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