A Swollen Red Sun by Matthew McBride

I’m tellin’ ya, you don’t know what y’all’ve gotten yourselves into.”
    Banks shook his head and lied poorly. “I ain’t got no idea what you’re talkin’ ’bout, convict. What would a low-life shit bum like Jerry Dean be doin’ with that much cash?”
    “It ain’t all his. He splits it up with his guys, you know?”
    “His partners?”
    “Yep.”
    “And who’re these partners?”
    “C’mon, man, I cain’t say.”
    “You best tell me.” Banks gave the mace a quick shake.
    “All I know’s one of ’em’s a cop. They supply dope to the prison. But you didn’t hear none of this from me.”
    Banks was genuinely stunned. “You’re tellin’ me there’s a cop in on this?”
    “You mean you really don’t know?”
    Banks didn’t answer. He had never considered the idea, nor had he expected it.
    “Well, yeah.” Jackson shrugged and turned his palms up. “There’s a cop in on this.”
    “A cop …” Banks shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t finish.
    “Yeah. Damn, man. There’s a cop involved. Now you know.”
    Banks was dumbfounded. “I can’t believe a cop’d be stupid enough to get in cahoots with you idiots.”
    Jackson threw his arms up dramatically. “Why’s that so damn hard to believe? You cops ain’t no better’n the rest of us. Hell, y’all’re worse. You think that badge is a right to steal.”
    Banks spit brown juice in the weeds. They stood at the edge of the lower forty. Under a pecan tree where Sandy had spent many summers. It was her favorite spot to nap in the shade while Olen worked the land.
    Banks looked at the fresh mound of dirt. Made more spit. Told Jackson to be straight with him. His future depended on it.
    “Listen, all I know’s what he mumbled last night. He was madder’n I ever seen him. But more’n that … he was worried.”
    “Go on,” Banks said.
    “We’s smokin’ that shit, you know, gettin’ ready for my uncle—but I was hopin’ he wouldn’t come, I was.” Jackson looked nervous. Tried to swallow but had a hard time of it. “I need water, mister.”
    Banks just stared at him.
    “So anyway,” Jackson said, “Jerry Dean come by the house, and he’s madder’n a wet cat. He starts shakin’ me down, man. Like he always does. Takes the rest of my dope I got stashed and starts smokin’ it up. Says how you stole his money.”
    “How who stole his money?”
    “I dunno. I thought it was you. Thought that was why you showed up at my place.”
    Banks shook his head. “Well, you thought wrong.”
    He felt a cold wave of nausea run through him and spit juice on Jackson’s boot. He drove him back to his mama’s trailer and told him he would see him soon. It was in his best interest, Banks said, not to mention this to Jerry Dean.
    Jackson swore he wouldn’t.
    Banks spent the rest of the afternoon at the Brandt farm. He fed Olen’s cows and chickens. Saw to it that they had water. By a quarter of five, he arrived at the hospital. Olen was waiting out front. He met Banks at the curb, before he could park.
    “You OK, Olen?”
    “Just get me the hell outta here.”
    “Sure thing, buddy. They did release you, right? You didn’t just sneak out, did you?”
    Olen looked at Banks. “What if I did?”
    Banks fought a grin. “Well, then I guess I’m helpin’ you escape.”
    Olen nodded. “You damn right. Hell with them doctors.”
    Banks had a good laugh and encouraged Olen to relax. “You hungry over there, hoss?” Banks asked. “I know that hospital food ain’t exactly home cookin’.”
    Olen said he was starving. The food at the hospital was tasteless, and his iced tea had no flavor.
    “What sounds good, partner? How ’bout a Silver Dollar?”
    Olen said that’d be fine. He hadn’t had a Silver Dollar burger in … He tried to recall but wasn’t able.
    “We’ve had many a burger there, haven’t we, old buddy?”
    Olen looked back in time, nodded. “Lots of burgers, that’s right.”
    The Silver Dollar was a metal