Family Thang (16 page)

Thirty minutes later, Eric made his third pass in front of Ruth Ann’s house.

Two choices: either work up the courage to signal Ruth Ann or go home and deal with Shirley and that wayward boy. He walked to the end of the block, then turned and walked back.

Fuck this, before someone gets suspicious and calls the police.

But he had to see Ruth Ann, just had to.

Knock on the door and ask Hot Lips to go get Ruth Ann.

Lester wouldn’t think much of him visiting Ruth Ann, would he? Maybe, maybe not.

If Lester took offense, he might want to fight. Could he take Lester? Lester was taller and more muscular than he, yet Eric doubted Lester was quicker with his jabs.

What if he was bumping Lester’s head and Ruth Ann stepped in and helped her husband.
Then what?
And what if their psychotic son, Shane, decided to throw in a couple licks?

On his fourth pass in front of the house, the front door opened and Lester stepped out and sat on the porch swing. Eric lowered his head and picked up his pace. At the end of the block he wasn’t quite sure what to do.

Wait! Rewind the tape!

If Lester was outside trying to get a sunburn to match the skin around his lips, then Ruth Ann was inside, alone. All he had to do was sneak round back and signal her. Bold, but doable. He turned the corner.

He’d expected an asphalt alley; instead discovered a rancid creek streaming parallel to fenced and unfenced back yards. A large polka-dotted dog, untethered in an open yard, barked at him. He hoped it wouldn’t give chase.

A white woman came out and yelled at the dog to shut up, and her presence incited the dog to react more viciously. The woman gave him a wary look. He waved at her and kept walking.
Will she call the
police?
He hoped not. At the back of Ruth Ann’s house he casually walked up the steps to the deck and tapped on the patio door.

“Ruth Ann?” attempting to whisper loudly. “Ruth Ann?” Something stank. Did they have a dog? “Ruth Ann?” He raised his right leg and inspected the bottom of his sandal. Nothing. He then noticed bones scattered on the deck.
Neck bones!
Why would they throw them here? Why not in the yard? A box lay near the neck bones. He picked it up. Juggernaut Gopher Bait.

What’s wrong with this picture?

“Freeze!” a man shouted.

Eric raised both hands and froze.

“Eric?”

The voice was familiar, though it wasn’t Lester’s. He turned and focused on the .357 Magnum the man beamed at his head.

Chapter 14

Reverend Rob Dollar preached on the television. Dressed in an Italian suit, gold cuff links, a Rolex on his wrist, diamond studded earrings in both lobes, he was holding a revival somewhere in Africa.

Each time he paused in his sermon titled Jesus is Lord Over Your Finances, the crowd of Africans, most wearing rags too big for their thin, emaciated bodies, took to their feet and cheered raucously.

Someone’s holding up a cue card off camera, Leonard thought, signaling them to applaud.
I’d bet not a one speaks English.

“I’m sorry,” Victor said. “I can’t go. Honestly, Leonard, you shouldn’t go, either.”

“You can just wait in the car.”

Victor, naked, extracted himself from Leonard’s embrace and moved to the window.

“Someone will see you,” Leonard said, “and we’ll get kicked out of this motel. This isn’t Chicago. You need to remember that.”

“You mean I’ll get kicked out, don’t you? I’ve been here alone all night. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“You know I’ve been with my family.”

Victor drew the curtains open wider. Sunlight flooded the room. Leonard covered himself with a sheet.

“Victor, would you please close the curtain? Come back to bed. Please! If someone sees you, you might get arrested.”

“If only I’d be so lucky.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Guess! You asked--no, you begged me to come here and meet your family. Now I’m here you keep me hidden in this room while you’re off doing…whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Don’t be silly. If you’re insinuating I’m cheating, you’re wrong, dead wrong. There’s been a tragedy in my family. My mother needs me right now.”

“I need you, too.”

Victor could be such a…a bitch at times. “Right now my mother
really
needs me. It’s not fair you ask me to choose between you and my family during a crisis.”

“It’s fair you ask me to go track a psycho in the jungle?”

Leonard got up, hurried to the window and snatched the curtains closed. “He’s not a psycho, he just has emotional problems. I asked you because I thought you might want to get out for a minute.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I misunderstood. All these years I didn’t know searching the jungle for a psycho was a source of entertainment. Pardon my ignorance.”

“The sarcasm not helping here. Southeastern Arkansas is not a jungle.”

Victor turned, face red. “I’m not someone you picked up off the street. Why didn’t you ask before we got into bed?”

“Please! Just forget it. I regret I asked you.”

Victor grabbed his pants from the floor and put them on, forgetting his underwear. “Maybe I should go back to Chicago.” He pulled the zipper so hard Leonard was surprised it didn’t rip off. “Back to my mother.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Okay, to be honest, I asked you to go because I’m afraid to go alone. I can see how you think I was using you. Wasn’t my intention. Honest.” Victor ignored him, put on a white Oxford shirt and buttoned it up. “If I’d known you’d throw a hissy fit, I most definitely would not have asked you.”

Victor stopped and stared at him. “It’s the money, isn’t it?”

“What money?”

“You know what money.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“Childish! I’m childish? The five years we’ve been together you’ve rarely mentioned the boondocks and your family. Now, suddenly, your family can’t continue life without you.”

Leonard tried to embrace him, but Victor pulled away. “My not calling you last night, isn’t that the real issue here? I apologize.”

“Why haven’t we discussed the money?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The money, Leonard! The money you’re inheriting from your father. Why haven’t we talked about it?”

Leonard sat down in the chair. “What’s there to talk about?”

“How much we’re going to invest, how much we’re going to spend?”

Leonard stared at a cockroach navigating its way through the green shag carpet, then looked him in the eye.

“Victor…” He cleared his throat. “Victor, my dear, you’ve mistaken the possessive pronoun here.
My
father!
My
father, not your father, worked to get this money. If I choose to give you some of it, well, you know, that’s on me. You can’t speak in terms of we because we don’t share the same father. For you to think otherwise is demonstrably…” He searched in vain for a strong adjective. “…childish!”

Victor stared at him a long moment, mouth agape. Without a word he stepped into his loafers…and walked out.

An hour later, Leonard parked his car in Count Pulaski State Park. He studied the map his mother had drawn for him and wondered if she’d been out here herself.

Three trails led into the woods dense with oak, pine, poplar, spruce and dogwood trees. Leonard got out of the car and entered through Maumelle Trail, as his mother had instructed.

A canopy of branches blocked direct sunlight on the four-foot wide rocky rut someone foolishly labeled a trail. A slight breeze tingled the leaves, though did very little to reduce the humidity. Two squirrels chased each other from tree to tree. A turtle labored in the opposite direction.

  Leonard didn’t notice any of this; his thoughts were on Victor.
Is he gone forever?

He wished he’d phrased his words differently. Certainly he intended to share the money with Victor, but he didn’t need Victor or anyone else telling him what to do with his money. The trail inclined, and Leonard stopped to catch his breath. A crow cawed and he remembered his purpose for coming here.

To deliver a messag
e to a psycho with a crossbow.

He pushed onward. At the end of the trail he came to a clearing. The temperature a tad cooler here. Amber knee-high grass bowed to the wind.

Two identical cabins constructed of hewed logs stood side by side in the middle of the clearing. A felled oak tree, obviously struck by lightning, split one of the cabins in half. Several buzzards circled below a clear blue sky.

“Shane?” Leonard shouted. His mother had said the boy wouldn’t shoot a relative, but Leonard wasn’t convinced. “Shane? It’s me, your uncle, a blood relative!” No response. “Kinfolk!”

Leonard stepped toward the intact cabin, wondering
if the boy had him sighted in crosshairs
, waiting for the perfect moment.

Wekeeeeee! Wekeeeeee!

Leonard whirled, looking for the origin of the sound. “What the hell was that? Shane?”

Wha
t the hell am I doing out here?

Well, one, sweating profusely, despite the cooler temperature. And two, needing only another strange noise to prompt a mad dash back to his car.

“Shane?”

He’d give it a few more minutes and then go home and tell his mother the boy couldn’t be found--and he wouldn’t come back.

“Shane?”

Nearing the cabin door, three boards nailed in a Z to eight two-by-fours, he caught whiff of an atrocious odor. Rotten meat? Or something dying? What if the boy lay inside hurt, moments from death? Would explain the buzzards hovering above. He knocked lightly on the door.

“Shane?” He pushed the door open. “Shane?” Silence.

He stuck his head inside. There was a wooden bed frame absent a mattress at the far wall, a worn-out orange-colored couch near the door, and a large stone fireplace to the left. A fey odor tickled his nostrils. No windows, no back door.

What a waste of time. He should’ve gone to the nearest bus stop and intercepted Victor, and told him he was sorry, told him--

Wekeeeeee! Wekeeeeeee!

The noise sounded directly behind him. He spun around and saw the arrow. Nothing but the arrow. Aimed at his chest. “Sh-sh-sh-shane!”