grin, like he was glad to be there and had arrived just in time. “Jenkins, I know this town is about as backass backwater backwards as can be, but are you telling me that you actually walk around this place like that? No shoes, no coat? You’re young but you’re not quite Huck Finn.”
That slow crawling heat at the back of Shad’s skull made itself aware to him again. It was always there, as much a part of him as the beating of his heart, but forgotten until the strain became too great. It grew more intense but wasn’t yet too painful. He looked down and didn’t see his body under the spruce anymore, and couldn’t be certain if he was awake or asleep.
“Stay out of the woods,” Jeffie said. “There are snakes in the dark.”
“Jesus, you people and all these warnings about the fucking woods.” He was starting to feel himself come undone a little. “Are you talking about the snake handlers up there? The community of the hill families? Did one of them kill Megan? Did her heart stop because of rattler venom?”
“How should I know? I’ve never been around here before.”
“Why did you show up then?”
“You wanted me to.”
Slouching a bit, Jeffie had a swagger now, something else he’d picked up off the warden. He let out a deliberate smirk and started chuckling, standing as if he were twelve feet tall, all this power in his face. Shad felt his shoulders go rigid as Jeffie reached out and touched him on the side of the neck. Flecks of red drifted against his skin. You could find some kind of goddamn symbolism wherever you looked.
“You ought to let it go. You’re not doing this for the right reasons.”
“Is that so?” Shad asked as the rage dug in deeper, putting the fire in his skin, kicking his heart rate up. “I’m going to find out what happened to her.”
“No,” Jeffie O’Rourke said, with that new merriment in his eyes. “I don’t think you are. Not entirely.”
When the calm wasn’t there you tried to fake it as well as you could. Jeffie kept tugging at all the wrong nerves, the same way he sometimes did back in the joint. Dead maple leaves scuffled past their ankles, scrambling across the wide lawn as the morning winds staggered in and out of the brush.
“You having fun on the outside?” Shad asked.
“Not as much as you might think.”
“Being an escaped felon might hinder your sense of cheer.”
“It’s not that so much, really. The FBI will never track me down. Those assholes spend most of their time tripping over one another, and they’re into more crooked shit than all of C-Block combined. It’s a machine working against itself. I’ve been number sixteen on the most wanted list for almost a year. They’ve never even come close.”
“So what’s the problem?” Shad asked, genuinely curious.
At last, a little of the old Jeffie came easing through. The loving but distressed face shaping his heartbreak. “I miss him.”
“The warden.”
“Yes. It’s not the same without him.”
“Looks like you’ve got money.”
“I had plenty stashed away. But, even with the cash, there’s no . . . reason in my life, if you can believe that shit.”
“Okay.”
Mrs. Rhyerson’s yard began to take on more detail as the dawn broke against the mountains, a murky orange stewing behind the hills.
“Are you dead?” Shad asked.
“Hell no. I’ve assumed the name Prescott Plumber, and I’ve got a sweet deal in East Hollywood. I take care of Albert Herrin. He used to be a director. Pretty popular back in the fifties, did a lot of war movies and had a couple of hits. In the sixties he did biker flicks and cashed in on the drive-in exploitation market right when it was getting big. I invested in a production company, bought up the DVD rights, and we’re making a fortune. Now he’s seventy-eight years old and still has no problem keeping it up.”
“The benefits of a pure life,” Shad said, a little surprised at the sound of his own bitterness.
“Highly
That slow crawling heat at the back of Shad’s skull made itself aware to him again. It was always there, as much a part of him as the beating of his heart, but forgotten until the strain became too great. It grew more intense but wasn’t yet too painful. He looked down and didn’t see his body under the spruce anymore, and couldn’t be certain if he was awake or asleep.
“Stay out of the woods,” Jeffie said. “There are snakes in the dark.”
“Jesus, you people and all these warnings about the fucking woods.” He was starting to feel himself come undone a little. “Are you talking about the snake handlers up there? The community of the hill families? Did one of them kill Megan? Did her heart stop because of rattler venom?”
“How should I know? I’ve never been around here before.”
“Why did you show up then?”
“You wanted me to.”
Slouching a bit, Jeffie had a swagger now, something else he’d picked up off the warden. He let out a deliberate smirk and started chuckling, standing as if he were twelve feet tall, all this power in his face. Shad felt his shoulders go rigid as Jeffie reached out and touched him on the side of the neck. Flecks of red drifted against his skin. You could find some kind of goddamn symbolism wherever you looked.
“You ought to let it go. You’re not doing this for the right reasons.”
“Is that so?” Shad asked as the rage dug in deeper, putting the fire in his skin, kicking his heart rate up. “I’m going to find out what happened to her.”
“No,” Jeffie O’Rourke said, with that new merriment in his eyes. “I don’t think you are. Not entirely.”
When the calm wasn’t there you tried to fake it as well as you could. Jeffie kept tugging at all the wrong nerves, the same way he sometimes did back in the joint. Dead maple leaves scuffled past their ankles, scrambling across the wide lawn as the morning winds staggered in and out of the brush.
“You having fun on the outside?” Shad asked.
“Not as much as you might think.”
“Being an escaped felon might hinder your sense of cheer.”
“It’s not that so much, really. The FBI will never track me down. Those assholes spend most of their time tripping over one another, and they’re into more crooked shit than all of C-Block combined. It’s a machine working against itself. I’ve been number sixteen on the most wanted list for almost a year. They’ve never even come close.”
“So what’s the problem?” Shad asked, genuinely curious.
At last, a little of the old Jeffie came easing through. The loving but distressed face shaping his heartbreak. “I miss him.”
“The warden.”
“Yes. It’s not the same without him.”
“Looks like you’ve got money.”
“I had plenty stashed away. But, even with the cash, there’s no . . . reason in my life, if you can believe that shit.”
“Okay.”
Mrs. Rhyerson’s yard began to take on more detail as the dawn broke against the mountains, a murky orange stewing behind the hills.
“Are you dead?” Shad asked.
“Hell no. I’ve assumed the name Prescott Plumber, and I’ve got a sweet deal in East Hollywood. I take care of Albert Herrin. He used to be a director. Pretty popular back in the fifties, did a lot of war movies and had a couple of hits. In the sixties he did biker flicks and cashed in on the drive-in exploitation market right when it was getting big. I invested in a production company, bought up the DVD rights, and we’re making a fortune. Now he’s seventy-eight years old and still has no problem keeping it up.”
“The benefits of a pure life,” Shad said, a little surprised at the sound of his own bitterness.
“Highly
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