#scenebreak
Dad drove me out to Corey’s place. “I see your stitches are intact.”
“Am I going to regret having you back to normal?”
He laughed.
Corey’s place swung into view as we turned a corner. Tango had warned me what to expect, so I wasn’t too shocked, but Dad whistled long and low as we pulled into the drive that led up to the main house.
Yeah: main house. And it was huge. Don’t get me wrong, back in the day, Dad and I had been more than comfortable financially, but this was a whole nother category. It looked like a Texas ranch house. . . albeit a pretty new one: white with a wraparound porch that had to be twenty feet wide. Three stories. Tin roof to keep it from seeming pretentious. A number of red barns and outbuildings huddled around the main house and more stood out in the fields. The Ewing homestead seemed like a cheap knockoff.
The gate stood open, so we crunched over gravel, past the cattle who stared at us. We were probably the most exciting thing to happen all day. As we pulled into the parking lot, Dad whistled again. “Guess we should have asked more for the lessons.”
He parked and we walked up to the house and across the enormous porch. A dog barked in the distance. The air smelled like fertilizer and the low murmur of cows and crickets was enough to let a blind man know he was on a farm.
Dad hovered a few feet behind as I rang the doorbell.
A pretty Mexican woman about Dad’s age opened the door. She lost her happy, welcoming face when she saw me. Her eyes flashed wide in shock and her hand went to her mouth. “Dios mio,” she muttered. “And this is the next day.” She moved closer until she noticed Dad lurking behind me. She put the door between us. “Why are you here? My boy had nothing to do with what happened. He feels horrible.”
Corey’s mom? I was only surprised because I hadn’t realized Corey was Hispanic. He had dark eyes and hair, sure, but I knew more Spanish than him and, as dark as this woman was, Corey’s dad had to be clear. I showed her my open hands to look unthreatening since Dad couldn’t do so no matter how hard he tried. “No, no, no,” I said. “I’m here ‘cause no one’s heard from Corey, and I was worried about him.”
Her face changed again. She seemed confused. “You’re worried about him?” Her eyes went a little moist as she looked past me, at Dad. “You’ve done a good job with this one.”
Behind me, I knew Dad was nodding his acceptance. “From what I’ve seen, you did pretty well with yours, too, ma’am.”
Mrs. Corey’s-Mom relaxed with one hand on her hip, suddenly seeming much younger. “Don’t you dare ‘ma’am’ me, Lucky Fox. I’m two years younger than you, and I haven’t forgotten the sight of you drunk as a skunk at Veronica Porter’s pool parties.”
“I seem to recall a few times you had as much fun as I did.”
Oh, yeah. . . Dad grew up here. Of course they already knew each other. By the way, I was the only one who called him “Dad.” To everyone else, he was Lucius “Lucky” Fox.
Mrs. Corey’s-Mom looked at me. “If you’ve never heard the stories, I’d be happy to share.”
I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately, I’ve heard more details than a son should have to bear. I spent way too much time at Dad’s gym, and those guys were always trying to outdo each other.”
She opened the door completely and stepped out onto the porch. “Corey’s in the horse barn.” She pointed at a smaller structure in the field. “He’s throwing hay.” She must have noticed my double take. “I know we could have people do all that, but. . .” She seemed to consider her words carefully. “Corey’s a good boy, but his best bet in life is running this farm one day. It’s been in my family for generations, but if he doesn’t learn it from the ground up, well. . .” She looked at the horse barn. “He’s going to need people to run the business side of things for him, and if he doesn’t know how to throw a bale of hay or milk a cow, those folks aren’t going to show him any respect.”
Wow. Really wise.
She turned her attention to Dad. “Why don’t you stay here and tell me all about life in the big city while the boys work things out? I can get you a beer and show you my new shotguns.” Her face said she’d just remembered he was gay. “Or a sweet tea?”
Dad stepped past me. “I’ll take a beer, Maria, as long as it’s not one of those sissy lo-cal piss-water beers. You got a Corona?”
“Always trying to shock us was this one.” She hooked an arm through Dad’s and led him into the house. “If you won’t drink a good Texan beer like Shiner, you aren’t welcome in my home.”
Dad looked over his shoulder to make sure I was okay on my own. I shooed him away.
The porch gave a great view of the farm in all its massive glory. Okay, I wouldn’t be a guy if I didn’t think, “Jesus, everything this dude has is bigger than mine!”
Hobble, hobble, hobble. That horse barn was a lot farther away than it would’ve been the day before. Skrillex blasted the warm afternoon air from inside. The doors stood open and Corey worked on the far side of the barn, grabbing bales of hay from a flatbed and chucking them into a stall. He wore bibs and a straw hat and, for the first time since I met him, he looked every inch the farmer.
As I watched him work, I realized why he was so strong. You have to put in hours every day at the gym to match that kind of work out. Also, he moved in perfect time to the music with a rhythmic grab-lift-heave-throw action. Hmmm. Interesting, since he had such a hard time keeping a beat on the dance floor.
He focused on his chore so much, he didn’t notice me. The intensity in his face showed me he was working out his demons with the labor. The sound system sat on a nearby bench. It was worth more than Dad’s old car and it lived in a horse barn. As I turned down the volume, Corey looked up in annoyance, probably expecting one of his parents. He held a bale of hay above his head like it was a helium balloon, then chucked it into the corner with its fellows.
I stepped closer so he could see me as more than just a silhouette.
He started. “Ah, Jesus. . .” He looked around as if he were embarrassed for someone to see him at work. He brushed off his bare arms, ripped the hat from his head and tossed it aside. Then he gave me his full attention.
We stood in silence for a full minute. From his face, I could see he wasn’t involved in any way with what had happened. “How much do you hate me?” he asked quietly.
“I’m not even mad at you, Corey. You had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m gonna kill those guys.”
“No.”
“Foxtrot—”
“No. You’ll get in trouble. I’ve caused you enough trouble as it is.”
“You caused me?” His carefully trimmed brow furrowed. “You’re the one looks rode hard and put away wet.”
I moved closer. “So we agree: other people did this to both of us. None of this is you and me.”
He closed the distance, still confused. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Dude. No.”
“You’re the only one who’s not.” He sat down on a bale of hay, sniffled and wiped a massive arm across a face that was already wet with tears. “Bro, you’re going to think I’m a little girl.”
“Of course not.” Of course, I did. A little.
“Tango and the crew hate me for screwing Monika and for what happened to you. The football team hates me because I didn’t stand with them after what they did to you.” He stared down at his feet. “I am so sorry they did that.”
“Not your fault.”
He still didn’t look up. “I found out those guys’ve been doing it for a while, driving out to other towns to get their jollies. Jesus.”
“I was in the wrong place, wrong time.”
He glanced at me, but had to look away again. “You’re the only friend I have left, Foxtrot. I used to have tons. Shit-tons. Everyone else hates me now.”
“No one should hate you.” I sat beside him. “Tango doesn’t hate you.”
&
nbsp; He made a dismissive noise I don’t know how to spell.
I dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, she should be the one saying this, but you won’t answer your cell.”
“I killed it.” He pointed at the nearby wall and a little pile of plastic and circuitry. “Got mad at the texts.” He looked at me again and didn’t look away. “She should say what?”
“She’s not mad at you. I told her what Monika did, that you pushed her off. So she’s not mad at you.”
He waited a moment. “But?” He wasn’t stupid.
“She wants to be your friend, Corey, and she wants you on the crew. Everyone wants you back on the crew. . .”
“But. . .” He was so fucking brave.
“But she doesn’t want to be your girlfriend, anymore.”
“Because I’m stupid.”
“No.”
“Because she wants to be your girlfriend?”
I didn’t know what to say.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Corey.”
“We say that to each other a lot, bro.”
“I’m still your bro?”
He actually chuckled. “Smart people live complicated lives, bro. I don’t know how you do it.” He thought about it. “You told her not to dump me. You stopped her from kissing you. I’m not so dumb I can’t remember that. I got no beef with you.” He dropped a hand on my knee. “It’s gonna hurt, bro, but I still love Katy. I want her to be happy and I’m smart enough to see she’ll be happier with you.” He drew his hand into his lap. “You’re the only one who’s ever been able to give her a nickname.”
I waited because there was more he wanted to say.
“I need to say something you’re not going to like,” he told me at last. “I’m saying it because I’m your friend even if it doesn’t sound like it. . . but I gotta say it.”
I waited.
“Katy and me had our problems. I knew all along it wasn’t going to last past the end of the school year, but she was happy enough with me until you came along.” He looked up at me. “All I can say is. . . watch your back.” He stared at his hands as the tears poured down his face. “I’m just sayin’.”
Again. Wow. Who’d want to think about his girlfriend that way, but I had to respect what it took for Corey to say it to me. I rose and stood in front of him. “You really want a hug, don’t you, Princess?”
His shoulders shook a bit. “You have no idea.”
I yanked him to his feet. “Okay, but be extra gentle. That one dude was a serious linebacker.”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me as gently as if I were a porcelain doll. “We’re okay?” he asked.
No idea why, but we were. “Stellar.”
I felt him nod. We stood like that for a while.
“Foxtrot?”
“Yeah, bro?”
“Can my new nickname please not be ‘Princess’?”
“No problem, Farmer-C. No worries there.”
fourteen
Twist banged on the old hovel’s door. He knew the witch was in there; the nun had given him detailed directions and a telenovela rioted away inside. He hadn’t driven three hours into the middle of the fucking desert for nothing. He banged again.
The door opened and an enormous red, gingham dress forced him several steps backward, to the edge of the stairs. “Get off my porch, ye foolish heathen, you stink of black magic.” The old woman loomed huge, over six feet tall and almost as many around. Her white hair was pulled up in a rag. The broom in her hands meant business.
Twist stumbled onto the stairs and grabbed the railing. “I was told you’re the strongest witch in the state.”
Flattery seemed to work. “Some say so.” She lowered the broom. “What do you want with magic, skinny cracker boy?” Confusion filled her face and she sniffed loudly. She leaned toward me and sniffed again.
What was her problem? Twist showered.
Her stony, brown face broke into a grin. “When a curse calls for a headless chicken, you kill the scrawny thing yourself, cracker boy. You don’t buy it at Walmart and plan to cook it up in a stew later.” She shook her head. “You’d be better off just buying rat poison if you want to kill someone.”
How the hell did she know about the chicken?
Twist settled himself. “Then tell me how to do it right.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” He slid his wallet from his jacket.
The old woman waved it off. “I don’t want your money. I don’t do what you want done.”
Twist stared at her. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?” He pointed at the broom.
She looked down at the blue plastic in her hands and laughed. “You think this thing would get my butt in the air, cracker? I just use it to bash in the pointy heads of skinny white boys who think all witches practice black magic.”
He did not drive that far for nothing. “Black, white, orange, whatever. I just need you to help me kill someone so no one can trace it back to me.”
She planted the broom bristles-down on the porch and rested her chin on the end. “I am a God-fearing woman, skinny cracker boy. And I have power, the kind of power you can’t buy on Amazon-dot-com.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I am asking you nicely to leave my home while I will be able to clean the stink of you off my porch in less than a week.”
“I drove three hours to get here.”
“And you will drive three hours back, empty-handed.”
Perhaps he’d been short with her because of the drive. He could make it right. He dug into his duffle bag and dragged out one of the books he’d bought. “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude.” He held the book out to her. “Just tell me which of these spells will work. I’ll do it myself.”
The woman chuckled. “None of them.”
He held out a different book. “What about one of these?”
“White boy, you can’t buy magic on the internet.” Her face scrunched up like a prune. “What do you want with all this dark evil, anyway?”
He shoved the book closer to her. “I need to get rid of someone, someone—”
She grabbed his wrist and twisted it so hard the book fell to the porch. He couldn’t free himself. She yanked him closer and held his hand, palm open. She stared at his hand.
“Let go of me.”
“Hush.” The scowl left her face. She looked directly into his eyes for the first time since her grand entrance. Her face softened. “What you intend to do, boy, you mustn’t do.”
He tugged his hand. “Let go.”
Her grip hardened. “You must trust me, boy. This is a dangerous path you follow. There will be consequences.”
He yanked harder. “I said let go of me, you old witch.”
Her face went slack. She chanted gibberish, and her eyes rolled up until all he saw was white, no, wait. . . her eyes were pale blue, he would swear to it, glowing.
Yes, her eyes glowed pale blue.
He trembled. Fuck! The trembling grew. He couldn’t stop it. “What are you doing to me?”
Her chanting grew louder. The trembling grew to shaking, his whole body.
“Damn it, let go.” It was a trick, like hypnosis. That’s all it was, all this magic was bullshit and he knew it. He just felt so desperate. He wanted to believe anything.
Except, with the linebacker, it’d worked!
She squeezed his wrist so hard it hurt and she chanted louder.
The air around her sparkled.
Fuck, time to believe!
He drew his pistol and aimed it for the center of her face. “Stop it, you old bitch.”
She shook his arm and screamed.
Bang!
The grip on his wrist released as the old woman fell backward and her brains splattered against the wall behind her. A flock of grackles, startled by the gunfire, leapt into the air.
Twist tumbl
ed down the steps and lay on the ground shaking so hard he couldn’t breathe.
He’d done it. He’d killed her. He could do it.
He sucked in a deep breath.
The shaking stopped.
He’d killed her. He was free.
Calmly, he rose.
Damn it, he was covered in bird shit from the startled grackles.
He used the old woman’s apron to clean up and made his way into her house. There had to be real magic stuff in there somewhere. Might as well make the trip worth the three hours it’d taken to find her. Then he’d burn the old bitch’s shack to the ground.