Southern Fried (34 page)

that day. After we all grabbed our suitcases and beat a hasty

retreat. Because if there’s one thing Granny always told me it was

never to tempt fate. And we’d been at least teasing with it pretty

badly up until then, tickling at its sides, and it was growing mighty

pissed at us.

I closed up the mansion, just temporarily, mind you, and fired

Roy. Goodbye to bad rubbish, I figured. Though I couldn’t, for

some reason, track down Betty. Her I left a note for. And a check

to help tide her over until we returned, despite what she’d done.

We knew where Beau was now, so Granny’s lawyer was able to

fill him in on his inheritance. I’d not spoken with him since that

fateful day at Port’s, either. Oh, sure, I tried. And tried. But all I

got was a bunch of hang-ups. In any case, he had half the money

now. The mansion would have to wait for the time being. But at

least he didn’t have any more peaches to pick.

As for the birth certificate, we found out why the Pellinghams

wanted it so badly. See, only Beau’s copy listed the father. Or so

we assumed, since none of us had ever seen it, and it was the

original. This I figured because once I got back to New York, I

dug up what I could find on the Internet, and Robert E. wasn’t

listed as the father. Meaning, that little bit of information had

been wiped out over the years. Show’s you what a little power and

a lot of money can do.

In any case, so long as Beau had the original, he was safe.

And, from what he’d been saying all that time, he wasn’t in any

all-fired hurry to bring it to anyone’s attention. So that left us, me

and my staff, at least the faithful ones, to worry about. In other

224 Rob Rosen

words, we were
all
up in New York. Me, Zeb, Pearl, Jeeves, Jake,

and Stella. All living in a well-guarded apartment I’d rented for

us. And a large one at that. Heck, Pearl had her own maid now.

And she could afford it. That and vacations for all her children,

who were now far, far away from home. Out of the country even.

Safe and sound.

And all this we made sure the Pellinghams new. Made them a

promise that none of us would step foot in the South before the

election. I called the truce. They leave us alone; we leave them

alone. Sent them some pictures of our rag-tag team at the Statue

of Liberty, our huddled masses, Pearl’s in a fur coat, breathing

freely. I told them that we had no intention of bringing Beau’s

birth to light. And that was the truth. Because even though

Beau and I hadn’t spoken, I knew that was what he wanted, for

whatever reason.

Though, of course, we had other rabbits to pull out of our

hats.

And none of them would be revealed until the time was right.

So we laid low. As far as those nasty Pellinghams were

concerned, we were but a faint blip on their radar. They didn’t

see us or hear from us after that. Plus, we figured, the senator and

his son were too busy to give us much thought. The campaigns

kept them on the move. I know this because we kept tabs on

them. And the election. Which would be a close one for the both

of them.

The senator was too old, the opposition said. And his son was

too inexperienced. But they were still Pellinghams. With a lot of

clout. And a lot of old money backing them up. So, like I said, it

was close. All the way up until Election Day. Neck and neck. Or,

in the senator’s case, jowl and jowl.

Thankfully, our plan didn’t involve being down there for the

festivities. In fact, everything we did, we did through a well-paid

intermediary. Because there was no way I was going to let them

know for sure that it was all done by me. Way too many lives

were depending on our anonymity. In other words, it was fine

if he suspected, because I couldn’t control that, but I covered

southeRn FRied
225

our asses up enough so that at least he’d have no proof of our

involvement.

And so, on a cold November day, cold even in South Carolina

and Georgia, the first letters arrived by messenger. One to all the

major news stations. The DNA test. From the hair we took from

the senator. And from Vicky, Pearl’s eldest daughter. Because,

as Pearl had promised, she was going to make things right. Not

that the senator didn’t vehemently deny that it was his DNA, but

still, it was enough to start the scales tipping. Because illegitimate

children were one thing, but when they come from the former

maid of a racist senator, well now, that’s something else entirely.

Thankfully, Vicky was only too happy to help. Because, in

case I neglected to mention it, she’s the chief council for the

South Carolina Democratic Party. Graduated magna cum laude

from UNC. Top of her class in law school. All paid for by the

senator. Yep, there’s that irony again. Go figure.

An hour after the letters, the tapes arrived. Not that they

showed them on the air, mind you. Because Port might’ve looked

pretty stunning, naked and hard, to the likes of us, but, well,

maybe not to a good deal of the television viewing audience.

Though the audio was played. Loud and clear. Especially the

part we’re he implicated both his father and grandfather in nasty

doings. Ironically, he joked about them in a bunch of those porn

tapes that Zeb had stolen, too. And calling your dad a shriveldicked closet case and your granddaddy a drunken whore and a lousy cheating scum apparently doesn’t make for a good sound

bite. Unless you’re the opposing party. Then, all systems go.

And those guns that Jake had collected? Wouldn’t you know

it, they were all stolen. And covered in Pellingham fingerprints.

As for the emails and letters to and from Granny, and the rap

sheets for all those blackmailed people, we didn’t release any of

them. Mainly because we didn’t have to. See, once Pearl and Jeeves

came forward, in sworn affidavits sent to the stations, dozens of

others started pouring in. And all from the finest homes. Homes,

that is, that up until the election had been supporting the senator

and his son.

226 Rob Rosen

Yep, Jeeves promised to make things right, too. And better late

than never, right? Also better late than never, and an even bigger

surprise, was Jenny. She was smiling for the cameras, puffing away

on her filterless cigarettes, and admitting to Robbie’s payoff for

the rebel flag tattoo story. And, damn, if she didn’t look happy

at last. Of course, just in case the police felt like pressing any

charges, we had Granny’s lawyer backing her up soon enough.

So with all that, and not too surprisingly, the election was a

landslide. And one that buried all those Pellinghams, every last

one of them. Heck, not even the gay community wanted to touch

Port with a ten foot pole. Not even the ones that wanted to get

a gander at his, well, ten foot pole. Because, yes, somehow those

tapes of his got leaked on the Internet. With only the innocent

faces blurred out. Oops.

The shit hit that fan I told you about less than twenty four

hours later. On the day after the election, instead of recuperating

from their victory parties, all three generations of Pellingham

men were being handcuffed and brought in for questioning.

Blackmailing, you see, is a big no-no. Especially when you’re

blackmailing the help of the cream of the crop of so many old,

southern families.

We, of course, had our own victory party. All of us. And not

with any,
blech
, peach brandy, either. No sir, no how. Southern

Comfort for everyone, our glasses held up high, bright smiles on

all our faces.

“To Granny,” I said, face lifted up to the ceiling.

“To Granny,” they echoed.

And then, well, a few glasses later, anyway, I ordered us our

plane tickets home. My home. The South. Because that’s where I

belonged. Always had, always will.

§ § § §

The limos dropped all of us off in turn. It had been a fun

several months, but life needed to return to normal. Stella and

Jake had clients depending on them. Jeeves and Pearl had a

mansion to run, as was Granny’s wish. And Zeb had his horses.

southeRn FRied
227

And me, of course.

I entered the house. My house. Well, mine and Beau’s, but

why nitpick? The place was quiet as church. I looked up at the

chandelier gleaming overhead. “Sorry, Granny,” I said, with a

giggle. “Quiet as a liquor store in a dry county on a Sunday.” It

was a bit wordier, but it would do. I closed the front door behind

me and breathed in the familiar smell of the place, of the old

wood, of the dust that had settled in our absence.

I moved into the living room and looked up at the portrait

over the fireplace. Granny stared down at me, eyes boring into

my soul. “If only you could speak,” I said, with a sigh.

Then came the voice. “She’d tell you how fucked you are.”

I jumped and grabbed my chest. “Wh… what are you doing

here?” I stammered.

“Bail, boy,” said the senator. He was holding a gun that was

aimed right for my face. “See what happens when you have

nothing left to lose?” He smirked, then sneered.

“You still have the love of your family,” I told him. Sorry, I

just couldn’t help myself.

He spat on the floor and moved in, finger on the trigger. “Say

hello to that bitch of a granny of yours, boy.”

I gulped and backed up. I fell onto the sofa, eyes shut tight,

just as the shot rang out, the sound nearly deafening. Strangely, it

was mixed with the clanking of shattering glass, which seemed to

be ringing out in all directions.
Did he miss
? I thought to myself.

My hands roamed my body, my face, my head. No holes, c
heck
.

No blood, c
heck
. I squinted one eye open. And there he lay. Hole,

c
heck
. Blood, c
heck
. And lots of it. Then my head slowly rose up as I took in the window behind where he’d been standing, the glass

shards still tinkling down. I smiled when my eyes focused about

fifty feet away, though the jagged opening left in the bullet’s wake.

Zeb was riding up on a white stallion, pistol still gripped in his

hand. “You okay?” he asked, poking his head through.

“Did you really just rescue me on a white horse?” I managed,

228 Rob Rosen

staggering off the couch and around the lifeless senator’s body.

He patted said horse on its flank. “Your granny’s favorite,” he

replied, hopping off. “Belongs to me now.”

I smiled. “That makes two of us.” I closed the gap, our lips

melding together through the now massive hole in the window.

His kiss started my heart beating again, the blood, at last, returning

to my face. And, uh, to certain other body parts.

“I saw you two when I was out on my ride,” he said, when we’d

broken contact. “Thank goodness I keep a gun in the stables.”

I shivered. “Yeah, thank goodness.”

He stared past me at the body. “
Ouch
,” he managed.

I nodded. “To be fair, he had it coming.”

“Well, yeah, what with him killing your parents, and all,” he

said, with a frown. “But,
ouch
, I meant the rug. Can’t hardly clean

blood out of an antique carpet.”

I turned and stared at the portrait again. And I could’ve sworn

I saw it smile. “Don’t worry,” I said, with a nod her way. “I think

I can afford a new one.”

Which, of course, was a gross understatement.

And speaking of gross, the body was taken away a short while

later, the police and the ambulance and, of course, the news vans,

arriving about ten minutes after my hero rescued me. Needless

to say, word traveled fast. Meaning, Stella and Jake and Pearl and

Jeeves were by my side not too much later.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, once it all came to an end.

Pearl had whipped us up some baked chicken and greens, along

with tall glasses of iced tea and fresh-baked biscuits, the honey

and butter already dripping over the sides. Strangely, or maybe

not so much, that was about all I needed to get over the day’s

events. In fact, truth be told, I felt pretty damn good. Because,

yes, as Zeb had so aptly put it, the asshole had killed my parents

and was about two seconds shy of doing the same to yours truly.

I sat there thinking of all that when Stella nudged me. “Your

cell is ringing, Trip.”

southeRn FRied
229

I blinked and came out of my reverie. “Oh, yeah.” I glanced

at the screen, even more surprised than when I found the senator

in my living room. “Hello?” I said, nearly breathless.

“You’re on the news.” It was Beau.

“How do I look?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He chuckled. “Youthful and effervescent. That what you

were going for?”

“Well, it’s what it claims on the side of the bottle, so yes.” I

paused, my heart beating a hundred miles per hour. “You calling

to see if I’m okay?”

Again he chuckled. “I already know you’re okay. It said so on

the news. Plus, I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?” Now it was