So Cold the River (2010) (19 page)

“Different man,” Edgar said flatly. “Should’ve made a phone call.”

“Well, my Campbell says he grew up in this town. Left when he was a teenager.”

“He’s lying,” Edgar said.

“You claim to know everyone in the town?”

“I know everyone has the name Bradford, and I
absolutely
know everyone has the name Campbell Bradford! Hell, anybody from my time would. Wasn’t never but one Campbell Bradford in
this valley, so if somebody’s telling you otherwise, they’re lying. Why in hell they would want to do that, though, I have
no idea. He wasn’t the sort of man you’d want to pretend to be. Campbell went beyond bad.”

“Excuse me?”

“He was worthless as worthless gets, ran around with every gambler and crook ever came to town, didn’t pay any mind to his
family at all. Used to keep a hotel room just for fornicating, drank all hours of the day, never met a truth he wouldn’t rather
turn into a lie. When he ran off, he left his wife without a cent, and then she died and my parents had to take in the child.
Those days, that’s what folks would do. My parents was Christian people and they believed that’s what they ought do, so that’s
what they done.”

He offered the last part like a challenge.

“He doesn’t sound impressive, I’ll grant you that,” Eric said.

“Campbell even went beyond all that,” Edgar answered. “Like I told you, that man went beyond bad. There was the devil in him.”

“You’re telling me he was evil?”

“You say that like it’s funny, but it ain’t.
Yes,
he was evil. He was, sure as I’m sitting here. It’s been damn near eighty years since the man left. I was a boy. But I remember
him like I remember my own wife, God rest her. He put the chill in your heart. My parents saw it; hell, everybody saw it.
The man was evil. Came to town in the middle of the high times, started in with the gamblers and the whiskey runners, made
the sort of money doesn’t come from honest work.”

Eric felt an unpleasant throb in his skull, the headache level jumping on him.

“You told me Campbell didn’t have any family left but Josiah,” Kellen said.

“That’s right. Josiah is Campbell’s great-grandson, last true member of Campbell’s line that there is, least as far as anyone
around here knows. I’m as good as a grandfather to him myself, I suppose, though there’s plenty days when I wouldn’t want
to claim that. Josiah’s got him a streak of difficult.”

Kellen hid a laugh by coughing into his fist, looking at Eric with amusement.

“I mean, we was all like family, you know, even though I’m not blood relation to that side,” Edgar Hastings said. “Josiah’s
mother, she called me Uncle Ed, and I thought of her as a niece. We was close, too. We was awful close.”

The room seemed smaller to Eric now, as if the walls had sneaked in on him during a blink, and he was more aware of the heat,
felt perspiration worming from his pores and sliding along his skin. How in the hell could Edgar Hastings possibly wear a
flannel shirt in here? He took his hand away from the dog’s head and got a whine in response, one that sounded less like a
complaint and more like a question.

“Like I told you, I just don’t know who’d want to bother with a man like that in some sort of movie,” Edgar said. “Not that
I think most movies are worth anything anyhow, I got that TV set on from sunrise to sunup and don’t never find anything a
normal person would want to watch.”

That one seemed to amuse Kellen again, but the smile left his face when Edgar flicked his eyes over, and Kellen said, “Um,
so there’s just no way the Campbell who left this town could still be alive up in Chicago?”

“No. He left in fall of ’twenty-nine, and he was in his thirties then.”

Eric said, “Could it be he had another son after he left? Gave the son his name?”

“Hell, anything’s possible after he left.”

“And is there any chance that he came back to town, or brought his son back…?”

“None.” Edgar gave an emphatic shake of his head.

“You met the man personally,” Eric said. “Correct?”

“Yes. I was only a boy when he left, but I remember him, and I remember being scared to death of him. He’d come by and smile
and talk to me, and there was something in that man’s eyes like to turn your stomach.”

“You told me he was involved with bootlegging,” Kellen said.

“Oh, sure. Campbell was supposed to provide the best liquor in the valley, and the valley was waist-deep in liquor during
Prohibition. My father didn’t drink much, but he said Campbell’s whiskey made a man feel like he could take on the world.”

“They still make booze that will do that,” Eric said with a grin that Edgar wouldn’t match.

“I’ve seen liquor turn good men sour,” he said. “I used to have a glass or two, but truth is, I stayed away from it much as
I could. It takes things from a man. You look at my grandson, he’s thirty year old and can’t even get off my property. Good
boy, means well, but he lets the liquor take him. Wasn’t for me, who knows where he’d be now, though. My wife had the best
luck with him but she passed nine years ago.”

“So he was a bootlegger,” Eric said. “Illegal, yes, but not
evil
. I don’t see—”

“Campbell saw to it that the law in town stayed bought off to certain enterprises,” Edgar said. “All the sorts that he was
involved in. When they didn’t, they died. Was a deputy in town back then who was a cousin of my father. Good man. He wanted
to investigate Campbell for killing a man had tried to run out on some debts. Wanted to charge him, thought he had the evidence.
Told people in town he was going to nail Campbell to the wall. It’s a turn of phrase, you know. Figure of speech.”

Nobody spoke when Edgar paused, staring at Eric with flat eyes.

“They found that deputy nailed to his own barn wall. Literally. Had ten-penny nails through his palms, wrists, and neck. One
through his privates.”

The dog whined again at Eric’s feet. Kellen said, “Did anyone try to arrest Campbell for that one?”

Edgar gave a small, sad smile. “I don’t believe so. Matter of fact, I believe it made things a little easier on Campbell.
Those
who had thoughts of crossing him, well, maybe they changed their minds.”

At that moment, there came the sounds of an engine and tires plowing through gravel, and Eric and Kellen twisted to face the
window as the dog barked and stood.

It was an old Ford Ranger, two men inside. Came to a stop just behind Kellen’s Porsche and then the doors banged open and
the men stepped out. A shorter, redheaded guy from the passenger side, and from the driver’s side a lean, dark-haired…

“Oh, shit,” Eric said. The driver was Josiah Bradford.

“Who is it?” Edgar said, pushing up from his chair and peering out the window. “Oh, hell, it’s just my grandson and Josiah.
You might as well meet Josiah. Like I said, he’s the last of Campbell’s line.”

“We’ve met him,” Kellen said softly, and he stayed on the couch while Eric stood and went to the door.

E
RIC WATCHED THROUGH THE
screen door as the redheaded man walked to the porch and Josiah Bradford hung back, standing in the driveway staring at the
Porsche. He was still studying it when his companion came through the screen door without a knock. Edgar Hastings’s grandson
entered with his chest puffed out, swaggering in bold and tough, like a cowboy crashing through saloon doors, but the sight
of Eric standing so close to the door gave him an awkward moment of hesitation, one that Edgar filled by saying, “Damn it,
Danny, show some manners.”

The redhead looked at his grandfather, then back at Eric, and grudgingly put out his hand.

“Danny Hastings,” he said.

When Josiah Bradford left the Porsche he moved quickly, up the steps and across the porch and through the door in a flurry.
The door banged off the wall and his eyes found Eric’s and then
went to Kellen on the couch. Kellen gave him a little wave and a wriggle of the eyebrows, Groucho Marx if Groucho had been
six foot six and black.

“Edgar, these sons of bitches are asking about my family?” Josiah said.

Danny still had his hand out, and Eric shook it, said, “Good to meet you. I’m Eric Shaw.”

Danny pulled his hand back like it had touched hot coals, then stepped away hurriedly and looked to Josiah for guidance. Josiah
stood in the doorway with his feet spread wide. Kellen still hadn’t moved from the couch. Now he leaned back against the cushion,
stretched, and laced his fingers behind his head, watching them with a lack of interest, as if the scene were unfolding on
the TV instead of five feet away.

“You know them?” Edgar asked Josiah. Then to Eric, “Thought you was from Chicago?”

“I am,” Eric said. “Just got in yesterday. Haven’t been here for twenty-four hours yet, but it was long enough to meet Josiah
and have him take a swing at me.”

“I believe we encountered that difficult streak you spoke of,” Kellen told Edgar.

“I’d have beat the shit out of you last night and I’ll do the same today,” Josiah said as he stepped into the living room.
The dog hurried away into the kitchen and placed himself behind the table and chairs. Evidently Riley was acquainted with
Josiah.

Josiah pulled up with his face a few inches from Eric’s. “Who are you, and what business is it of yours to come into my town
asking about my family?”

Eric was looking into the other man’s weathered face, burnt by the sun and seasoned by the wind. The skin beneath his right
eye was swollen and discolored, streaked with purple and black, a souvenir of Kellen’s left hand. Eric found himself staring
at it,
something about the color of the bruise reminding him of the storm cloud he’d seen coming with the train. Above the injury
Josiah Bradford’s eyes were a dark liquid brown that seemed familiar. Campbell’s eyes? No. Eric had just seen Campbell on
the tape that morning, remembered well that his eyes were blue. But he’d seen these eyes, too. They were the eyes of the man
on the train, the man who’d played the piano.

“I asked you a question, dickhead,” Josiah said.

“I’ve been hired to do a video history,” Eric said, not wanting to stare at Josiah Bradford’s eyes any longer but unable to
stop himself. “My client wanted me to find out about Campbell Bradford. I didn’t know a damn thing about you, your family,
or anybody else here until I got down here yesterday. Sure as shit didn’t expect to have you acting like an idiot the first
night I got in town, begging for a fight.”

The longer Eric looked into Josiah’s eyes, the worse his headache became. It had swelled into a pain so intense and so demanding
that even the conflict of this moment couldn’t distract him from it, and he turned away from him and sucked air in through
his mouth, wincing and lifting his hand involuntarily to the back of his head.

“You been fighting again?” Edgar said. “Josiah, I swear you’re a lost cause.”

“They was looking for trouble, Edgar.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ah, he was only joking around with us yesterday,” Kellen said. “Say, Edgar, you ever hear the one about the nigger in the
fur coat?”

Josiah lifted his arm and pointed at Kellen. “You watch your ass.”

“You watch yours,” Edgar shouted. “I won’t have this carrying on in my house.”

Josiah dropped his arm, ignoring the old man, and looked back at Eric. “I want to know why you’re down here asking about my
family.”

“I already told you,” Eric said, and he had to speak with his head turned sideways. He didn’t like that body language; it
suggested he was intimidated, but he also couldn’t stand to look him in the eye, because when he did, the pain flared worse.

“You didn’t tell me shit. Working on a movie, my ass. Where’s the cameras?”

That made a smile creep over Eric’s face.

“You think it’s funny lying to me? I’ll whip your ass right here.”

“Like hell you will,” Edgar said, and over by the door his grandson said, “Ease up, Josiah,” in a voice that was near a whisper.

“Where’s the cameras?” Josiah repeated.

“I had a little equipment malfunction this morning.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Eric shrugged.

“Who’s making the movie?” Josiah said. “And why?”

“I have no interest in answering that question,” Eric said, and this time he got his head lifted and looked Josiah Bradford
in the face, taking care to stare at the center of his nose and avoid a direct look into those liquid brown eyes.

“Well, boy, I’m about to give you the interest,” Josiah said, stepping up and bumping his chest against Eric’s. Eric held
his ground as Edgar shouted at Josiah to back off and Danny Hastings shifted uneasily at the door. Kellen stretched his legs
out and put his feet up on the coffee table and yawned.

“You got no right to be asking about my family,” Josiah said, breath warm and reeking of beer. “You got questions? Then you’ll
pay for the answers. I got a financial right to anything you do that so much as mentions my family.”

“No,” Eric said, “you do not. Perhaps you’ve never heard the word
biography
. I wouldn’t be surprised. Even if I want to make a movie about
you,
asshole, I’m legally entitled. The good news is, nobody in the world would be interested in seeing it. So rest assured, that
won’t be happening. Meantime, if you threaten me again or harass my friend or pull any more of your pathetic, childish shit,
I’ll have your ass thrown in jail.”

“It’s been there before,” Edgar said from his chair. “Going to have to say something different than that to convince him.”

“Shut up, Edgar,” Josiah said, his eyes still on Eric.

“Hey,” Danny Hastings said. “No call for that.”

Eric said, “Thanks for your time, Edgar. You were a help.”

He walked past Danny, then turned back when he had his hand on the door and watched Kellen get to his feet slowly, letting
his full size unfold and fill the room.

“Get out,” Josiah said.

Kellen smiled at him. Then he leaned across the coffee table and offered his hand to Edgar Hastings, passed very close to
Josiah without touching him or looking at him, nodded at Danny, and joined Eric at the door. Eric pushed it open and they
stepped outside. They were halfway to the car when Josiah followed to yell a parting line.