A Tree Born Crooked (22 page)

James gestured toward the two men beside the Jeep, moving his body along with his hands so that he was further in front of Marlena.

“Don’t think I was formally introduced to your friends there.”

Big Ted grunted.

“You don’t need to know them. Except to be assured that you better not make no fast moves, else your brother there is gonna have a hole going through him like a Krispy Kreme donut.”

James raised his hands, making a point of the fact that he was unarmed.

“Do I look like I’m making any fast moves?”

Big Ted laughed again, obviously enjoying the situation. He lowered his gun and then stuck it in the elastic waistband of his oversized jeans. James tried to look relaxed.

“Now that we see eye to eye on who’s doing and not doing what around here, why don’t you tell us what you want.”

“What’d you think we want?”

Big Ted turned and grinned at the men behind him.

“Why else you think we’re all the way out on the far side of nowhere? You think we’re out here picking daisies and playing with ourselves?”

“I don’t know. What you do on your own time is up to you. But I believe we already had this conversation. Rabbit doesn’t have that money—”

Big Ted began laughing again.

“—and you know it.”

“Are you trying to be smart, kid? Trying to get the upper hand? Trying to be cool?”

James didn’t blink.
 

“Trying to.”

“Well, it’s not a good look for you. We know you don’t got the money.”

James heard Marlena catch her breath beside him. James did his best to control his anger, especially since there were so many loaded weapons involved.

“Then what in God’s name are you doing here?”

“Boss sent us after you. Though now that we’ve had a look at this sorry sack of a brother of yours, it’s pretty clear he don’t got it. I don’t know why we were sent after him in the first place.”

James spoke through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll ask again. What the hell are you doing?”

“Mr. Granger wanted us to follow you, see where you was heading. Knew if you didn’t have the money, you’d probably be on your way to the fella that did. Guy named Waylon, right? I think maybe this pretty young lady might have a notion who he is.”

Marlena stiffened beside James, but had sense enough not to move.

“Yeah, the boss man’s pretty good at sniffing out rats like that. Just needed to know the general direction this Waylon asshole was headed in. He much appreciates you helping him out. Made a few phone calls to some friends of his up in Biloxi. Won’t take too long to hunt him out. Probably got the money already. Thank God, ‘cause my hemorrhoids are killing me. All this riding ‘round, not sure I woulda wanted to go all the way up there. I need to get me one of them gel seat cushions like they always advertising on the TV.”

“So, then your boss got his money.”

“Looks like it.”

Marlena couldn’t help herself.

“What’s gonna happen to Waylon?”

Big Ted turned his attention toward her.

“Not too sure, darlin’. Hadn’t got that phone call yet. Though I suspect when this is all said and done, there most likely won’t be pieces of him big enough to find. Hope you understand, course.”

The look in Big Ted’s eyes was that of a cartoon shark about to devour a school full of guppies. James turned the man’s attention back toward him.

“Okay, so you got what you wanted. What else? You gonna shoot us for fun or what?”

Big Ted glanced back at James. He stuck his thick fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and hoisted them up under his overhanging belly.
 

“Well, now, I’m offended. You must have got the wrong impression of us. You think we just go ‘round killing people when we ain’t got nothing else to do?”

James didn’t say anything.

“No, we only go ‘round killing people when Mr. Granger says to. It’d be bad for business if we started taking things into our own hands. Much as we might like to.”

“Then what?”

“Apparently, the boss man has a soft heart when it comes to bitches and albino retards.”

Big Ted squinted his piggy eyes at James.

“And whatever you are. Mr. Granger just wanted me to pass along the message of what happens to folks who take his property. Just a little warning, you might call it.”

“That all?”

Big Ted looked dissatisfied, but had to admit that it was.

“That’s all.”

“Fine. You warned us.”

James kept his eyes locked with Big Ted’s until the large man turned away, chuckling. He took his time walking back to the truck. Once he was in the driver’s seat, the man holding Rabbit pushed him forward, and the two men got back into the truck, the skinny one still pointing his gun in their general direction. The barrel of the gun remained sticking out of the passenger window until the truck had backed out and sped down the highway with a screech of churned up gravel and skinned rubber.
 

James exhaled, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Marlena and see what her reaction to the news about Waylon was. He knew he was being a coward, but he only had so much. He had to keep his focus on his brother. He left Marlena’s side and slowly walked toward Rabbit, slouched down on his knees in the dust. James tried not to notice the dark stain that had spread from the crotch of Rabbit’s jeans as he reached out his arm to help raise his brother up from the dirt. Rabbit grabbed James’ wrist and let himself be hauled back to standing. Before letting him go, James bent down slightly and he could see the dirty, wet streaks that trailed down his brother’s face. He made Rabbit look him directly in the eyes as he spoke.

“It’s over. Really, it’s over. We’re going home.”

TWELVE

It had been raining since nightfall. Waves of rain came fluttering down onto the glittering asphalt parking lot like new bedsheets, snapped, lifted and wafting slowly down to the mattress, ready to be tucked in at the corners and rumpled by morning. The pink and blue neon radiating from The Happy Flamingo sign shimmered against the slick, black tar. The motel parking lot was flat and low and its wet surface resembled a pastoral lake, only instead of rows of trees reflecting end-to-end against the furrowed water, there was the cheap, artificial light of roadside promises and anticipated failures. James turned away from the window.
 

He sat back down in the uncomfortable wooden chair and reached for the half gallon bottle of vodka sitting on the wobbly table, pouring more than he intended to into a clear, plastic cup. James scooped a handful of cubed ice from the plastic bucket and dropped it, splashing, into the liquor. He emptied what was left of a can of Sprite into the cup and then crushed the can in one hand before picking up the drink and swirling it around a few times.
 

Rabbit had already staked out his territory on one of the two double beds taking up most of the space in the tiny room. He sat with his back against the peeling, white headboard and his right hand firmly gripping the stationary remote that was bolted into a swiveling holder on the narrow nightstand between the two beds. The Happy Flamingo’s marquee, missing black letters that were obviously not important enough to replace, advertised “C ean Rooms! Fr e HBO!” So far, neither of those statements had proven to be true. For the past two hours, Rabbit had systematically and repeatedly clicked through all twelve channels, switching to the next one whenever a commercial broke into the show he was watching. He seemed flabbergasted that the same shows, mostly
Praise the Lord
sermons on public access channels, and reruns of
Mama’s Family
and
Roseanne
, remained on the television no matter how hard, or how many times, he mashed the buttons on the remote. As James was making the drink, Rabbit was fifteen minutes into a police chase on
Cops
and had seemed to relax, but as soon as a commercial for denture cream interrupted, he was back to pounding on the remote control and cursing loudly at the stupidity of television advertisements.
 

James was trying to handle the outbursts. Rabbit had picked up a bottle of DayQuil at the Jiffy Mart next to the liquor store they had stopped at and that, combined with a steady intake of alcohol, seemed to calm his oxy-withdrawal symptoms. James was slightly concerned about what mixing that much cold medicine and liquor would do to Rabbit, but he was honestly more worried about Marlena.

She was curled up on the other double bed, closest to James and the window. She sat motionless, with her legs drawn up to her chest, and her arms crossed and resting on her knees. Her head was turned away from Rabbit and the television. Marlena had been watching the rain and drowning in her own dark thoughts since they had arrived at the motel. She was drinking as much as James and Rabbit, but hadn’t said a word to either one of them. In fact, James now realized, she hadn’t spoken since they had solemnly climbed back into the Jeep and turned back toward Crystal Springs. James had only known her for a few days, but already he was able to perceive that silence was her fortress in the same way that anger was his. He picked up the drink he had just made and took it over to her. She raised her head when she lifted the drink from his fingers, but still her gaze was fixed on the elements raging outside the smeared glass. James sat down on the edge of the bed opposite her and unwrapped a Slim Jim. The Happy Flamingo was a few miles off a desolate exit on Route 98. There was a liquor store, but no restaurants or even a Save-A-Lot. They had pillaged the solitary convenience store, bringing back a feast of beef jerky, potato chips, and candy bars. James chewed on the stick and flipped over a bag of Bugles to read the “Tasty Fun Facts” on the back of the package. His boredom was finally interrupted by an exceptionally loud outburst from his brother.

“Goddammit it all to hell, there ain’t nothing on this crack box!”

“There hasn’t been anything on TV all night.”

“I know, but man, if there was just something good, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

James crumpled up the greasy Slim Jim wrapper and tossed it toward the tiny trashcan. It unfurled and fluttered, landing a foot away on the carpet.
 

“Did you hear what you just said?”

“What?”

Rabbit was intent on trying to pry the remote control from its holder.
 

“Nevermind. What’re you doing?”

Rabbit was now poking the blade of his pocketknife between the remote and its thick, metal holder and trying to twist it. The blade kept popping back out.
 

“Trying to get this stupid remote off a here. What kinda moron bolts down a remote? Like some retard is gonna walk off with it. You can’t do shit with a remote without no TV.”

“How drunk are you?”

“Huh?”

The knife popped out again and almost sliced into Rabbit’s palm. James picked up a half empty bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and sniffed it.
 

“What’s the point of trying to get the remote outta there? It’s not gonna make the shows on TV any better.”

“I know, but it’s driving me bat shit crazy.”

James watched Rabbit’s hands shake. Finally, Rabbit gave up and slung the open pocketknife across the room. It hit the opposite wall and ricocheted into the bathroom. Marlena jerked her head up when she heard the knife blade skim across the tile. James swallowed a potato chip.
 

“Whoa.”

Rabbit sprung off the bed and went to pick up his knife. James stood up from the side of the bed, felt the room spin slightly, and steadied himself on the edge of the nightstand. He heard Marlena shift on the bed behind him, her jeans rustling against the stiff comforter. Rabbit had to crawl under the sink to retrieve his knife and was wiping bits of lint and hair off the blade when he came back into the room. He stopped when he saw the look on James’ face.
 

“What?”

James stood up.

“You tell me. For the hundredth time, what is going on with you now?”

Rabbit snapped the knife closed and stuffed it down into the side pocket of his cargo pants. He couldn’t seem to focus and his eyes kept darting around the room. There was a strange edge to his voice, and he swayed a little as he spoke.
 

“Oh, nothing. I’m only stuck in a crappy motel room with nothing to do. No TV. Not nothing real to eat. ‘Less you count the crackers and peanuts.”

Rabbit picked up a yellow bag of Funyuns from the table and angrily flung it against the wall.
 

“What are we, a bunch of damn squirrels? I don’t see why we had to stop here. We shoulda just drove straight on home.”

James frowned at his brother.

“You were the one who wanted to stop. It was your idea. You were the one saying you couldn’t deal with being in the car any longer, that you needed to get something to calm you down. I didn’t hear anyone else asking to stay the night somewhere.”

Rabbit smacked his hand down on top of the television set as he came closer to James.

“Course you didn’t. You’re too big and badass to complain ‘bout nothing, right? Mister Big Shot, stealing cars and having money and girls and no, you couldn’t let your little brother in on none of that, could you?”