wiped his hands on a rag and the men approached him as Everett ducked back inside the station.
Sheriff Hodges was a round fellow, jowly and generally pleasant. It was Hodges who came to Forrest some weeks back to tell him they had no leads on the men who cut him at the County Line and that the county would be officially dropping the investigation. Forrest had figured as much as soon as he woke stretched under hospital sheets. He felt unmoved by the news; he knew that they would come under his reach again. It wasn’t vengeance he sought anyway, rather something more like a reckoning, a balance. It wasn’t something you had to seek.
Hey Forrest, Hodges said. This here is Jeff Richards.
Pete Hodges forced a grin and pointed at the new man. Hodges and his deputies normally avoided the Blackwater station, not even acknowledging its existence, and Forrest knew this was because they did not want to disturb the dynamic machinery of illicit booze that kept Franklin County relatively solvent and livable. And because they were afraid.
Hey there, Pete, Forrest said. Jeff.
The men shook hands.
New special deputy, Hodges said.
Abshire kept his head down and kicked at the gravel. A car came winding down the hill from Roanoke, a Dodge coupe, moving very fast over Maggodee Creek and by the station to the south. All the men turned briefly to watch it pass.
Forrest idly scratched at the ragged scar that ran under his chin, now stippled white and crosshatched with raised scar tissue.
I ain’t seen you around before, he said.
My father worked a piece down in Patrick County, Richards said. Woolwine.
Who’s in the car, Pete? Forrest asked.
Hodges winced and looked at Richards. The mist was beginning to burn off the road and the faint smell of woodsmoke drifted across the lot. Forrest rubbed the small lump of wood in his pocket with his fingers. Charley Rakes made an exasperated sound and mopped at his sweaty face with his fat tie.
Goin’ get something to drink, Rakes said, and walked inside the station.
Anyone around, Hodges asked, other than Everett and the counter-woman?
Nope.
Richards put his hands in his vest pockets and rocked back on his heels.
That there is the commonwealth’s attorney, Richards said. You know Mr. Carter Lee?
I know of ’im.
Hodges cleared his throat.
Look here, Forrest, he said. Carter Lee wants to work it out so everyone can do a little business. We just wanted to make sure we had your cooperation.
There was a clacking of metal on glass. Carter Lee was rapping on the car window with his ring. All four men looked toward the car.
Henry, Hodges said, go see what Mr. Lee wants.
Henry Abshire walked to the car and bent to the window.
Look Forrest, Hodges said, this is the way it is. We want to help you build your business. No one will bother you across the county all the way to Roanoke. We got a place in Rocky Mount will sell you whatever you need. Grains, sugar, yeast. Worms and caps too. We got spares at the station.
Nobody bothers me now, Forrest said, and what would I need all that shit for?
Jeff Richards chuckled and slapped his leg. Forrest could smell the pomade on him, mixed with the smell of fried pork. He glanced back at the station window and saw Charley Rakes’s bulky form standing at the counter, gesturing with his hands, Maggie shaking her head.
Richards cussed with a smile and spit in the dirt.
Hell, we ain’t stupid. We know you movin’ liquor! We know you got it stored up there in that shed an’ you movin’ it from the station here.
Easy, Jeff, Hodges said. Ain’t no reason to—
We know ’bout all of it, Richards continued. And if you want to keep movin’ licka then we are going to need to ’ave an arrangement.
Richards had his head cocked to the side and a smile on his face and Forrest watched his eyes and felt the heat drain to his hands. He began to build the box to hold the flickering flame in his mind.
Pete, Forrest said evenly, just who in the hell is this
Sheriff Hodges was a round fellow, jowly and generally pleasant. It was Hodges who came to Forrest some weeks back to tell him they had no leads on the men who cut him at the County Line and that the county would be officially dropping the investigation. Forrest had figured as much as soon as he woke stretched under hospital sheets. He felt unmoved by the news; he knew that they would come under his reach again. It wasn’t vengeance he sought anyway, rather something more like a reckoning, a balance. It wasn’t something you had to seek.
Hey Forrest, Hodges said. This here is Jeff Richards.
Pete Hodges forced a grin and pointed at the new man. Hodges and his deputies normally avoided the Blackwater station, not even acknowledging its existence, and Forrest knew this was because they did not want to disturb the dynamic machinery of illicit booze that kept Franklin County relatively solvent and livable. And because they were afraid.
Hey there, Pete, Forrest said. Jeff.
The men shook hands.
New special deputy, Hodges said.
Abshire kept his head down and kicked at the gravel. A car came winding down the hill from Roanoke, a Dodge coupe, moving very fast over Maggodee Creek and by the station to the south. All the men turned briefly to watch it pass.
Forrest idly scratched at the ragged scar that ran under his chin, now stippled white and crosshatched with raised scar tissue.
I ain’t seen you around before, he said.
My father worked a piece down in Patrick County, Richards said. Woolwine.
Who’s in the car, Pete? Forrest asked.
Hodges winced and looked at Richards. The mist was beginning to burn off the road and the faint smell of woodsmoke drifted across the lot. Forrest rubbed the small lump of wood in his pocket with his fingers. Charley Rakes made an exasperated sound and mopped at his sweaty face with his fat tie.
Goin’ get something to drink, Rakes said, and walked inside the station.
Anyone around, Hodges asked, other than Everett and the counter-woman?
Nope.
Richards put his hands in his vest pockets and rocked back on his heels.
That there is the commonwealth’s attorney, Richards said. You know Mr. Carter Lee?
I know of ’im.
Hodges cleared his throat.
Look here, Forrest, he said. Carter Lee wants to work it out so everyone can do a little business. We just wanted to make sure we had your cooperation.
There was a clacking of metal on glass. Carter Lee was rapping on the car window with his ring. All four men looked toward the car.
Henry, Hodges said, go see what Mr. Lee wants.
Henry Abshire walked to the car and bent to the window.
Look Forrest, Hodges said, this is the way it is. We want to help you build your business. No one will bother you across the county all the way to Roanoke. We got a place in Rocky Mount will sell you whatever you need. Grains, sugar, yeast. Worms and caps too. We got spares at the station.
Nobody bothers me now, Forrest said, and what would I need all that shit for?
Jeff Richards chuckled and slapped his leg. Forrest could smell the pomade on him, mixed with the smell of fried pork. He glanced back at the station window and saw Charley Rakes’s bulky form standing at the counter, gesturing with his hands, Maggie shaking her head.
Richards cussed with a smile and spit in the dirt.
Hell, we ain’t stupid. We know you movin’ liquor! We know you got it stored up there in that shed an’ you movin’ it from the station here.
Easy, Jeff, Hodges said. Ain’t no reason to—
We know ’bout all of it, Richards continued. And if you want to keep movin’ licka then we are going to need to ’ave an arrangement.
Richards had his head cocked to the side and a smile on his face and Forrest watched his eyes and felt the heat drain to his hands. He began to build the box to hold the flickering flame in his mind.
Pete, Forrest said evenly, just who in the hell is this
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