While I was putting the cans on the shelf, I thought about the only times I saw Daddy’s temper flare. It was at Mr Dunlop. Once it was about Mr Dunlop shooting his rifle off willy-nilly when he knew me and Thomas were playing Mission: Impossible in the woods. Once it was because Mr Dunlop was saying nasty things about Miss Georgia, and Daddy couldn’t abide anyone poor-mouthing Miss Georgia. But the third time was around Easter this year, and it was the maddest I ever saw Daddy.
Daddy and Mr Dunlop were talking to each other across the creek, so I didn’t catch everything they said, what with the gurgling water and my hanging back, since I wasn’t supposed to be spying on them, but it was something to do with land and great-grandaddies. Daddy raised his voice after a time, saying Mr Dunlop didn’t know what the h-e-double matchsticks he was talking about, and Mr Dunlop, a sly look on his face, actually walked into the creek so he could hand Daddy an old brown piece of paper. “Now that’s what I call history!” I hated the smirk on Mr Dunlop’s face, and when he turned his back on Daddy I wanted to yell at him and at Daddy to go after him. But Daddy just stood there a long time, staring at the piece of paper with his mouth hanging open. Finally he slowly folded it into thirds and marched home with his jaw muscles bulging.
The next morning Daddy wasn’t in the shop like he usually was. Beau was tugging at his hair with both hands and said Daddy had headed up north along the creek. I had a feeling I knew exactly where: the same place he and Mr Dunlop had that argument.
I ran up there, and Daddy was standing, hands on his hips, gazing across the creek at the Dunlops’ property. His eyes were all squinty and fixed above the horizon, so I could tell he wasn’t really looking at anything. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, and sometimes he’d flinch, like he was seeing some kind of horror movie in his head.
I didn’t want to scare him, so I tried to make a lot of noise with my feet and my breath as I walked up beside him. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t move but kept gazing across the creek towards the Dunlops’ land. “There’s a lot wrong out there, Red.”
“Well, can I help?”
It seemed like it took a while for my words to sink in. Slowly he turned to me, eyeing me like he’d been away somewhere. His face crinkled into a smile, but his eyes were still sad. I remember how the red sunrise shone off of them. “Maybe you should, son.” He put a hand on my shoulder and took a deep breath.
I stood up tall, because I could feel that he was about to say something real important, when we heard a shot and Mr Dunlop’s rebel yell.
“Take that, you dang coon!”
Daddy’s jaw tightened, and his face screwed up so he looked like he might be sick. He clutched my shoulder hard and even grabbed his stomach with his other hand. I thought he was going to puke.
“Are you okay, Daddy?”
He looked across the creek, his face still all clenched. “Let’s get to the shop. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
As we walked in silence, I was mad at Mr Dunlop for ruining the moment. I looked at the sign on the shop as we walked in, PORTER’S: WE FIX IT RIGHT, and I wondered if I’d be able to fix whatever Daddy was feeling so sick about. I tried bringing it up a couple of times that day, but the first time Beau walked in and interrupted us, and the second time Daddy didn’t even answer, just looked across to the Dunlops’, clenching his jaw. Soon after that, Daddy was gone.
Now I’ll never know what it was. And that made me madder than ever at Mr Dunlop. Because it must’ve been serious. Daddy even said should. Maybe you should, son. Not maybe you could or if you want to. He said, Maybe you should.
I heard a car drive up outside, but it didn’t really register because I was still thinking about Daddy and what I should be doing. When the engine made a last rev before cutting off, I thought about me and Daddy identifying cars by their sounds. By the time the car door shut, I dropped the cans of soup I was stacking because I knew that it was a high-performance car. I ran to the front porch of the What-U-Want and, sure enough, I was right.
It was a brand-new ’73 red Mustang convertible. I didn’t even know those convertibles were out yet. Sometimes we got lucky and rich folks came for a drive in the country, and we got to see some pretty cool cars. Until now, I’d seen this Mustang only in Motor Trend, but here was the real thing. Right in front of me. Live. The engine still hot. All shiny red and gleaming chrome, looking like it could eat up the road in one fell swoop. Daddy would’ve loved it. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my entire life.
What was weird was the guy who stepped out of the Mustang. He looked like that nerd called Poindexter in the dumb Barbie board game Rosie made me play when we were little, even the red hair on top of his thin milk-carton head. He was so skinny that Miss Georgia would say if you saw him from the side, you might miss him altogether.
Mr Harrison drove up, too, but I hardly noticed him. I was too busy gawking at the Mustang and wondering why a nerdy guy like Poindexter had such a cool car. Until Mr Harrison pointed at my open mouth and said, “Watch out, or the bugs will fly in!” and laughed like he was the funniest guy ever.
Mr Ha-ha Harrison headed on over to our house, and I shut my mouth but I kept looking at the Mustang. I heard Mr Harrison, though.
“Betty, your house is looking lovely, as always. I’m sure we’ll get you a buyer in no time. In fact, I believe I might have one snagged already!”
What? I felt myself gritting my teeth, but what I heard from Poindexter, inside the store, made me even madder.
“So all this property is for sale? The store, too?”
I whipped my head around and was in the What-U-Want before Beau had a chance to speak. “Who wants to know?” Was Poindexter the buyer Mr Harrison had snagged?
Beau’s eyes went wide. “Wh-what he meant to say, sir, is he’d like to know your name. I-I’m Beau, and this here is Red.”
Poindexter held his hand out to Beau, who touched the bill of his Quaker State cap with one hand and shook with his other.
“I’m Bill Reynolds. From Richmond.” He puffed out his chest. “I’m a lawyer.”
Right then I knew I didn’t like him. I remembered what Daddy said about the only thing slimier than Mr Harrison was a big-city lawyer, so I squinted my eyes at Mr Reynolds from Richmond. “Why do you want to know about our land?” I scared him, too, because he stepped back and stuttered. I realized that he was pretty young, at least for a lawyer.
“I-I’m inquiring on behalf of a client.” He emphasized the word client like that made him the most important guy in the world. I’d seen Perry Mason on TV. I knew a client was just someone who hired a lawyer. So if Poindexter wasn’t the buyer, who was?
“Well,” I said, “I don’t think any cli-ent of yours would be interested.”
“Oh?” said Poindexter, looking at Beau, who was tugging his hair and staring at me wide-eyed.
“Yeah,” I said slowly, giving myself time to think of a good reason. “Yeah, we got termites and wood rot. Everywhere.”
Beau looked at me, shaking his head. “I don’t think—”
“And,” I said, talking over Beau, “it’s too dangerous for another reason. You see, Mr Dunlop – he lives behind us – he doesn’t take kindly to folks who are strangers to these parts. Heck, he doesn’t even take kindly to us, and we’ve lived here for thousands of years.”
Beau coughed.
“Well, hundreds of years, anyway.”
“I’m aware of Mr Dunlop,” Mr Reynolds said.
How did he know about Mr Dunlop? “Well,” I said, “are you aware that he’d just as soon shoot you as look at you?”
Mr Reynolds flinched, and Beau was tugging his hair with both hands now.
“I see. Where, exactly, is his house?”
I pointed behind the store. “Right back there. Shotgun distance.”
His Poindexter face went even paler. “Well, thanks for that information,” he said, heading for the door.
I figured I’d gotten rid of
him for good.
He took a deep breath and said, almost to himself, “I’ll have to go pay Mr Dunlop a visit.”
What? It took me until he got in the Mustang before I remembered what Rosie had said and found my voice. I ran out to the steps. “Mr Dunlop’s gone hunting and won’t be home for two days!”
“Thank you,” he said, giving me a wave, “I’ll be back.”
Maybe, I thought, but when you get here you won’t like what you see because our repair shop is going to be a spray-painted mess and your client won’t be wanting this place any more!
CHAPTER SIX
Kenny’s
Through the pool-hall window I could hear Kris Kristofferson’s voice singing “Help Me Make It Through the Night”, and I felt like he was singing for me. Kenny’s stank like beer and sweat and maybe something else but I don’t know what. Looking through the glass door was like staring at a smoky bad dream. All I could think about was how Daddy always told me not to come here.
I could barely make out Darrell and his gang over by the rack of pool cues. They wore cool clothes, like Grateful Dead tank tops or black T-shirts with rolled-up sleeves. I looked down at my own clothes and wished I wasn’t wearing my striped T-shirt and too-short jeans. I tugged at my jeans, trying to make them stretch down to my sneakers, but it was no use. I looked like that kid Opie from The Andy Griffith Show, skinny and freckled, with the same red hair.
I yanked open the door and stepped inside like I belonged there. I looked around quickly to see if Kenny was in the main room and breathed a sigh when I realized he must be in the kitchen. Daddy said Kenny was all right, unless you hurt him or his property and then you were a goner, but Kenny kind of scared me. He was the size of Beau but as hard as Beau was soft.
“Quit gawking like a little kid,” Darrell hissed in my ear.
I hadn’t even seen him walk up to me.
“Follow me,” he said.
I tried to walk with a swagger like Darrell did, but my legs felt more like a couple of loose pistons slapping. When I finally made it over to the group by the pool table I was glad to slink against the wall even though the stucco poked my back like a bunch of tacks. I didn’t much like how the smoke was stinging my eyes, but I appreciated the fog it made so I could hide in it.
Darrell was standing across the table from me, at the edge of the group of guys, all high schoolers. If he didn’t feel out of place, he sure looked it. The other boys seemed cooler than Darrell without even trying. While they were talking quietly, Darrell would laugh real loud all of a sudden and they’d all look at each other or shake their heads, but Darrell didn’t seem to notice. Even when he slapped Glen on the back, Darrell didn’t see the dirty look Glen gave him.
Glen Connor wasn’t the kind of guy you should slap on the back, especially if you were Darrell. His daddy was some local politician, I couldn’t remember what, and Glen was the spitting image of him, only not as wide. He even had the same slicked-down blond hair and stuck-up voice. He and his daddy came by our house at election time and Daddy had said, in a nice way, that they were wasting their time because we were dyed-in-the-wool Democrats. Mr Connor had grinned, but it was the kind of grit-your-teeth grin that you do when you want to stop some bad words from coming out. Glen didn’t bother to even fake a smile. I didn’t care for them much, but Daddy said to watch myself because Mr Connor had a lot of power. Judging by how the guys in Kenny’s were flocking around Glen, he seemed to have power, too, even though he hadn’t been elected to anything.
The other guy I knew was Larry, who just happened to be both Kenny’s and Mr Harrison’s nephew. Right now, I didn’t feel too kindly towards him because of Mr Harrison. Other than that, Larry was okay. The rest of the guys I’d seen in and out of the What-U-Want, but I didn’t really know them.
But I sure knew the guy who yanked the glass door open and hesitated for a moment, just like I had, before stepping into Kenny’s like it was the principal’s office. Thomas! The line between his eyebrows as he stared at Darrell’s gang reminded me of that same look of concentration when we played Rock’Em Sock’Em Robots. Even though I was mad at him I was still relieved to see him. He was the best friend I had in that place.
“Hey, Thomas.”
He did a double take when he saw me. All the guys stopped talking, too, and stared at Thomas, then at me, like they were noticing me for the first time.
“What,” Thomas said, his face grim, “are you doing here?” He was talking to me like he was the daddy and I was the little kid!
I guess the gang agreed, because they snickered and one of them said, “He don’t belong here.”
I felt my fists clench. I jerked my head in Darrell’s direction and made my voice tough. “Meeting my boys.”
The gang laughed more at that, which made me even madder.
Thomas shook his head. “You’re just a kid, Red. You shouldn’t—”
“I’m the man of the house now!” I said, drawing myself up as tall as I could.
“The man of the house, huh?” Thomas looked at the gang and walked over to me, lowering his voice. “Hanging out here with Darrell?” He shook his head and almost sneered at me before turning and reaching for a pool cue from the rack. “Yeah, Big Red, your daddy’d be real proud of you right now.”
Something like fireworks went off inside of me, and I’d punched him before I even realized what I did. All I knew was that my right knuckles hurt, Thomas was doubled over clutching his stomach, and the whole rack of pool cues was clattering to the floor like a bunch of giant pickup sticks.
I heard the chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” but overtop of that I heard Kenny’s voice boom, “Stop right now!” and I looked at the ground.
“What are you thinking, boy?” Kenny said.
“Sorry,” Thomas breathed.
I jerked my head up and tried to say it was me who started the fight, but Glen was already talking – and pointing at Thomas. “He shouldn’t be in this establishment, Kenny.”
Kenny’s left eye twitched because you didn’t tell Kenny Rae Campbell how to run his place. I was slowly taking in the fact that the gang had been talking about Thomas, not me, as the one who didn’t belong.
Kenny held his snake-tattooed arm out to Thomas. “Let me see your money, boy.”
Thomas sighed, and I saw his shoulders slump before he pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. He hesitated, but Kenny snapped his fingers, still staring at Glen. Thomas pulled a five-dollar bill out and slapped it in Kenny’s hand, harder than I would’ve dared.
Kenny didn’t flinch. He held the note up to the flickering fluorescent light and squinted at it. “Yep, it’s genuine American money.” He looked at Thomas, who was putting his wallet back in his pocket. “You planning on causing trouble, boy?”
“No,” said Thomas. I noticed he didn’t say “sir”.
“You planning on paying for your sodas?” Kenny asked.
“Of course.”
I held my breath because Thomas sounded almost like he was sassing.
Glen Connor folded his arms and lifted his chin.
Kenny gave the five bucks back to Thomas. “That’s all I care about.”
I don’t know who was more surprised – Thomas or Glen, who glared at Kenny and then at Kenny’s nephew. Larry was too busy gawking at Kenny, so Glen had to elbow him.
“Oh, yeah,” said Larry. “Uncle Kenny, my boys here wanted—”
“To play pool?” Kenny interrupted him. “Play darts? Drink you some Cokes? Well, that’s fine.”
Glen looked hard at Larry, who opened his mouth again. “But we—”
“But,” Kenny went on, “any one of you boys mess with my property? I will personally throw you out of here so hard your hiney will have skid marks.”
Darrell was the only one who laughed.
“And then I’ll call the sheriff,” Kenny said, “and maybe all y’all’s mamas and daddies, too.” His narrowed eyes swept across all of us. “Are you hearing me?”<
br />
Some of the gang nodded or murmured yes, but Glen didn’t blink and his face was stony. Kenny noticed and put his hands on his hips, staring Glen down. The room was so quiet all you could hear was the buzzing of the fluorescent light.
I was real surprised when Darrell cleared his throat and said, “Hey, Thomas. How about a game of pool?”
Kenny switched his gaze to Darrell, who looked everywhere around the room except at Kenny, or at Thomas for that matter. He bent down and picked up the fallen pool cues, setting them all against the wall except one. He chalked the head of that thing until it was raining blue dust.
Thomas brushed past me, saying softly, “Go on home, Red.”
“But… I didn’t mean… I—”
“Forget it,” Thomas said, looking over at the door. “Someone’s waiting for you.”
I saw the Quaker State cap through the smoky haze. Beau knocked on the glass door and waved. I looked back at Thomas, but he was ignoring me, racking up the balls on the pool table, so I went on outside.
“What do you want, Beau?”
“You to come home.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“Sometimes things just pop in my head. When they do I know they must be right because they ain’t had a chance to run around my brain and get stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Beau.”
“How come you here, Red? Your daddy told me never to go inside this place. Didn’t he never tell you that?”