Misisipi

by Michael Reilly

  She shakes her head. “Look, I been thinking on all that while I was up town.”

  “Yes?”

  “Juju. This is plain silly, just crazy to be honest. I didn’t expect you to even be here”—she checks herself—“in the city I mean. And now”—she leans forward, voice strained—“you come here and you talking bout killin him? Maybe I was wrong, maybe it ain’t him. Like I said, I get all turned around with this thing. I could be wrong. And now they’s talking about it being like 75 cent chance the storm’s gonna hit the city. Couldn’t we just go, get in your car, and get over to Dallas? Be with Gert and Tanya, we all be safe. Maybe you see it different after. Maybe that’s what you need.” Monica nods her head—Praise be! —showing me the true path. “Yeah. That’s what we need. Time. Just to think it through and make a peace with it. What do you say?”

  All through this crap, I clench the gun in my pocket, ebbing my anger into it and drawing from its steely resolve. Now I feel the fury rising in my face.

  “Peace?” I shriek. “Here’s my peace!” I slam the gun on the table.

  “Jesus Lord Awmighty!” Monica screams as she back pedals on her chair. “Juliana!”

  “I have done nothing but think it through. Every single day for 25 fucking years, Monica. And you came crying to me. Remember that! First scent of danger and you want to save your own fat ass, just like 25 years ago. So don’t try and sell me some shtick about you running out on me by dressing it up in that horse manure of you running out with me.”

  She’s scared shitless. Finally, I’m getting somewhere. “Nod like you fucking know what I’m saying, Monica.”

  She does, bug-eyed and tranced, like a Marie Laveaux devotee at a backwater black mass. Can I get another ‘Praise be!’ Sister?

  “Ok, here’s what’s going to happen,” I bark. “You know where he lives, you followed him home. Yes? No? Well? Good! We have an hour of light left. You’re going to show me where the house is—just show me—and then I’m putting you on the bus to Dallas. You’ll be at Gert’s by dawn and a long way away from the shitstorm. You don’t get any other say, except to say ‘Yes Jules’. Understand?”

  “Yeah.” She has trouble getting that much out.

  “Good. Because I didn’t get messed up for nothing. Get your stuff together, yours and Ella’s. We leave in five minutes.”

  I bully the directions from her as we drive—Left? Sure. Right? I guess. Now? Ahead? Monica?—and we are soon cruising through Lakeview. When I recognize we’re crossing Filmore for the third time in as many minutes, I pull to the curb.

  “Look,” I sigh, “I know you’re nervous. I’m sorry if I’m only adding to that. Just take a second and think. The sooner we get there, the sooner it’ll be over for you. K?”

  She nods. “Not this far down. I’m sorry. It’s offa Bert Lee. I’m certain.”

  “You absolutely sure, Monica?”

  More nodding, desperate to allay my annoyance.

  “Ok. Show me.”

  Up on Robert E. Lee Boulevard, she animates as we pass a three-tiered home, so distinct from the other cookie-cutter houses.

  “That one! I’m sure. I memba that Japanese-looking house. Take the next left.”

  She guides us along a series of turns through homely parts, and as we start down Louis XIV Street, she gestures to a lone-standing bungalow coming up on the left.

  “That’s the one. That’s where he stopped.”

  “Ok.” I drift past, noting no parked car or apparent activity.

  “Where ya going?” Monica snaps. “I said that one, did’n I?”

  “Just checking it out, Sis. Calm down.” I go around the block and stop on the next street over, eyes on my rear-view.

  “Why we stopping?”

  As the dimness grows around us, I stare into the mirror to see if a white pickup will appear in our wake.

  “Juliana? It’s over there,” Monica insists.

  “Shush! It’s not going anywhere.”

  When I’m satisfied, I double back to Louis XIV. Driving slower, I notice that many of the residents have heeded the omens and departed. A few houses look occupied but none at this end. I choose the one that’s a door up from the bungalow on the opposite side of the street and I pull into the drive there.

  “Whatcha doing?” Monica asks. “It’s the one on the other side. I showed you where it’s at.”

  “We’re going to wait a while. See what’s what.”

  “You told me you was gonna get me to the bus station. Got me all packed up.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t miss your bus. I just want to make sure there are no surprises. Like I’m sure you did that day. Who drove you, out of interest?”

  “Huh?”

  “When you spotted him. You don’t own a car. How were you able to follow him?”

  “I—eh, I took a cab. I made em stay back outta sight.”

  “That was clever of you.”

  “Yeah.”

  I reach down and produce my field rations for the stakeout: another batch of my homemade sandwiches, a large chocolate bar, and a supersize iced tea. With one button push, my seat relaxes into ‘snooze’ mode while I bite down on a sandwich square.

  “Get comfortable, Monica. Might be a while.” I offer her a square. “You hungry? I’m guessing you can’t eat while you dialysis… dialy-size… whatever you call it.”

  Warily, she takes it and nibbles sheepishly. I drop the iced tea into the drinks holder. “Help yourself. You’re ok once they’ve flushed you out, right?” I toss another square into the back. “Looks like someone else went hungry today,” I remark as Ella wolfs the offering down with far less hesitation.

  After adjusting the mirror to better view the house, I make a show of bedding in for the long haul and continue eating. Monica gazes out her window, sneaky-snacking the sandwich like I won’t notice. I slurp the tea noisily and it isn’t long before she relents and asks for some. Soon she’s on her second square. I unwrap the chocolate, take a bite, and toss it onto the dash. Tempting, eh? I feel slightly guilty. Every foodstuff I’ve brought is kryptonite to Monica’s condition. She might be sick by midnight, really sick. But at least it’ll happen far away from this. And I‘m not making her eat, am I? Like I didn’t make her lie about her dialysis, like I didn’t ask her to sell me out.

  The last light goes quickly. The house remains dark. I wait some more, until Monica’s had her fill and I’ve had mine.

  “Stay put,” I announce. “I’m going to go over and take a look.”

  “But what if there’s someone in?” Monica bleats.

  “Someone? You mean Henry?” I pat the pocketed gun. “Then it’s going to be a short visit.”

  I dismiss any more protestation and walk down the street. A quick glance around before I cross over and approach the fence around the property. The gate into the back yard is unlocked so I let myself in. The entire place is unlit, the rear door locked. I don’t need to investigate much to deduce that, like most of his neighbors, Henry’s gone to higher ground—if he was ever here at all. Wherever he truly was, he’s almost certain to have fled town. How long ago? A day? Half-a-day? In the window of time which Monica wasted playing catch-up, slowing me down with faux-friendship, and leaving me for the wolves?

  Concealed by the blackness, I lean to the wall and the doubt and regret run through me. I gave better, I deserve better. I came at her behest. What’s the point in pursuing this for all the rest of them, the dead and the living? What about me? Can’t I fashion a new beginning only for me, if there’s still time? I just need to get in the car and go home. Never look back. Past is prologue. The End.

  So now what? Wait ten minutes to let Monica sweat and hopefully cram another heap of nutritional napalm down her neck? Maybe the suspense will accelerate her reaction. I really ought to put a bullet into the grass before I reappear, just to really mindfuck her and let her anguish that on the ride out of town. Anyhows, gunfire ain’t nuttin but a thang in Nawlins.

  I coll
ect myself and head for the gate. Suddenly I crash to the ground, jarring my knee.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I feel about and latch onto my assailant—a kid’s plastic trike. I haul it by the handle with me as I march toward the car, my fury with Monica in full flow. I can’t kill her so I take it out on the trike, smashing it against the trunk to announce my return.

  “Is this what Henry rode home on!”

  Ella barks madly at me through the rear window. Monica doesn’t even flinch.

  “I’m talking to you, lady!” I slam the trike against her door. “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

  I yank the door open and brandish the trike at her. “Kids, Monica! That’s a family over there. Henry Almonester my—”

  Tears are streaming down her face. Her fists pump the air like she’s convulsing. She spills from the car onto all fours and grabs my leg, wailing. I drop the trike in shock. Jesus. I’ve poisoned her!

  “Monica?” I try to raise her but she’s like deadweight, her hand locked round my ankle. She raises her other hand, trying to give me the cellphone it holds.

  “Monica. Get up. I’m sorry. Are you getting sick?”

  ‘Tanya’ is all I can make of her cries as I relieve her of the phone.

  “What about Tanya?” I yell, finally getting her upright. She slumps against the car, almost going straight back down through my arms.

  “He got Tanya! My baby. Oh Jesus God forgive me. Henry, he took her!” Her labored breathing terrifies me.

  “Tanya’s in Dallas. How—”

  “Look!” She grabs my wrist and shoves the phone under my nose. The photograph on the screen chills my blood. Denny’s large hand is clasped across Tanya’s mouth and nose. Her terrified eyes beseech mine. Behind Tanya, Denny’s smiling in the lopsided way you see on drunken celebrity mugshots, and I remember the bawdy sexual plans the pair made in the kitchen. I push ‘Next’ and the second photo is of Monica’s bathroom mirror. The message on it is scrawled in lipstick.

  WANNA SWAP? TELL YOUR FREND TO STOP FUCKIN ROUND GIVE U 1 DAY NO COPS

  “We gotta get home. Oh God!” Monica howls.

  “No! It’s not safe.” I can barely keep my own stance. What do I do? What have I done?

  Monica slides to the tarmac before I can grab her.

  “Monica!”

  Her complexion is waxy and drenched with perspiration. Her eyes roll back in their sockets and she passes out. But she’s breathing, thank God. I try to haul her onto her seat. In the end, I have to crawl assways across it myself first, dragging her by her armpits to get her in. As I speed downtown, Ella whines and keeps trying to come forward to where Monica’s head rests in my lap, my hand pressed to her temple.

  “Hold on, Sis. Don’t leave me now.”

  I break every red light to Charity Hospital yet we arrive unscathed, by virtue of either Divine or Diabolic intervention. I’ll take whatever I can get.

  Truthfully, I’ve long since cared knowing the difference.

  Saturday

  The nurse rouses me and I rise stiffly from the chair beside Monica’s bed. Sunlight streams through the window. I follow into the hallway and notice the urgency with which people are moving. We stand to the side to avoid the bustle.

  “The nephrologist looked at her chart this morning,” the nurse explains. “Her creatinine and B-U-Ns are better than when she admitted—not ideal—but they’ll have to do for now.”

  “So you’ll keep her here until she’s fully stabilized? It’s just I have to be somewhere.”

  “Sweetheart, y’all need to be elsewhere. Word is a mandatory evacuation is gonna be declared sometime today.”

  I blink, still groggy. “Then this is the best place for her, right? She’s sick. And this place is hurricane-proof. Her house isn’t.”

  The nurse holds up her hand. “We are going into lockdown as of now. No new admissions. Critical patients stay. Ambulatory cases have to vacate. It’s out of my hands.”

  My ire is rising. “If you turf her out, she’s only gonna be back here in two days needing more treatment. If you’re not admitting anyone new, who’s taking her bed, huh?”

  “You’re not from around here, are you? Never had a hurricane land on you? We’re gonna be moving over 200 patients away from windows, squeezing as many as we can onto Floor Twelve. We’re not in health care mode right now, Honey, we’re in survival mode. The less souls here, the better.”

  “She can just sit in the cafeteria,” I protest. “What harm will it do?”

  “None, if you don’t mind her sitting in the dark with no AC and no food. Soon as the storm hits, I expect there’ll be power outages. When we start to run off generators, every non-essential area will be shut down.”

  “Just a few hours, please. I’m begging you.”

  “Ma’am. Listen to me. Here’s a bunch of soluble bicarbs, a few Fosrenol, and a week’s worth of multi-vitamins. It’s all I could get from the dispensary. Instructions are in the bag. Should be enough for five or six days. If you start out now and get on I-10, you can be in Houston in a day. But if the storm hits, we’re gonna be swamped from the other hospitals and you’ll curse me for letting her be in the middle of that.”

  I grip the bag. I say, “Thank you,” but the nurse is already striding down the corridor and that’s that I guess.

  I shake Monica awake. She tries to sit up but I restrain her.

  “Tanya,” her first word.

  “It’s going to be ok,” I assure her.

  Her features tighten. “We have to tell the cops,” she moans.

  “There’s nothing to tell, Monica. We can fix this ourselves. We have no choice but to.”

  “But Juliana—”

  “But nothing. Have you looked outside? Everyone is leaving. The city’s evacuating. There isn’t a cop to be had.”

  Monica slumps in the bed.

  “Besides,” I add, “what could they do? Do you know where Henry’s at?”

  She shakes her head.

  “And you never did, did you?”

  “I’m sorry. He threatened me, threatened my baby, said he just wanted to talk to you.”

  “He’s not going to hurt Tanya. You have to believe me. He may be crazy but he’s old-school crazy. They have their own fucked-up code.”

  “But the other guys he has working for him. They’re animals, that took her.”

  “Animals on his leash…” I don’t add the insight I gleamed from my eavesdropping, ‘…for now.’

  “What we gonna do?” she asks as the tears start.

  “I telephoned Gert. Don’t worry. I didn’t let on. Seems Tanya raided the coffee jar and jumped a bus back here to protect you from the storm before Gert knew what was happening. I told her we’re all going to hole up at my hotel.”

  “I ain’t going to no hotel, Juliana. I gotta find her. This is my fault. Why the damn she gotta be like her father?”

  I get Monica’s clothes from the back of the door. “I know, Mama Grizzly. But not in your state. I’m going to find her. Meantime, I’m putting you somewhere safe. No arguments.”

  “How can you? We don’t know nothing. I never knew where he was at. I lied to you. Now God’s making me pay for it. I’m so honest sorry, for you though, not Him.”

  “It’s ok. You don’t have to explain, Monica.”

  “Yes I do. And I need to make peace bout something else. Something worse I did than not tell the truth.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I forgive you, whatever it was. Just get dressed.”

  “I told em where you was at, before I left yesterday. I went and just sat up by the river, waiting for it to be over. I gave you up because I couldn’t let anything happen to Tanya.”

  “What’s done is done, Monica. I absolve you.” I sign the cross at her.

  “No! I ain’t asking for forgiveness. I need you to know what I did but I’d do it again. When it comes to Tanya, nothing else comes close. Not no one neither, not even me. You need to understand that.
She’s all I got.”

  I brush her tears away. “I know. That’s why you’ll always be a better mother than I could have been.”

  “You have to bring her back to me, Juliana. Promise you will.”

  “I swear. Now, get dressed. We have to go.”

  In the daylight, Louis XIV Street is more eerie than it ever felt last night. There are no children playing or neighbors passing by one another. Most cars are gone now. The insect chatter, freed from manmade opposition, seems amplified. On this glorious sunny Saturday, the houses are more ominous in their stark abandonment.

  I park at the family bungalow.

  “Why we back here?” Monica asks. “Y’all know this ain’t Henry’s place.”

  “That’s why I’m parking your ass here. Yours isn’t safe and the hotel isn’t… well, won’t be. It’s only gonna be a little while. Wait til I open the front door.”

  I break a rear window and climb though. It’s the kid’s room. Great! When I exit the front door and spot the trike where I tossed it on the opposite drive, the guilt compels me to rescue it as I fetch Monica’s bag and help her inside.

  The kitchen gives up any number of canned goods. Pineapple for me, beans’n franks for Ella who sniffs every corner of the unfamiliar place before accepting her tray. I prepare a bottle of the soluble supplement for Monica and afterward we talk.

  “Tell me everything you know,” I begin. “I won’t be mad. I just need any little detail that will help Tanya.”

  So Monica tells it all.

  I barely slept in the hospital. I spent most of the time arranging it all in my head. Now, with Monica’s additions, I have a plan, most of one anyway. I’m not going to tell Monica anything that might clue her on just how crazy it is so I tell her nothing.

  I produce the cellphone with Denny’s lipstick picture. “So they gave you this? You contact them with it?” She nods. “Ok. I think we’re ready. I’m going to lie down for an hour. You should rest too. Then I’ll tell you what I have in mind and we’ll go.”

  I retire to the kid’s room and flop onto the small bed, fighting the immediate urge to go under. I listen as Monica settles herself in the next room and then I count off 15 minutes.