Painted Fences
Ray Bowdoin stood in front of Black, a little too close but Black wouldn’t step back, not ever. Ray was tall and strong and might’ve been handsome till he lost his money and the standing it came with.
“I need to speak with Samson,” Ray said.
“Ain’t happening.”
Ray stared at Black and Black stared back.
“I need –”
“And I said it ain’t happening.”
Ray tightened his jaw and Black smiled. There weren’t much else in the world Black would’ve liked more than Ray Bowdoin coming at him but he knew it wouldn’t happen ’cause Ray was tough but he weren’t dumb, least not when he was sober. He tried to imagine him going off on Purv – mismatch didn’t come close.
“I’m working on the Lumen house, spend half my time on that fuckin’ roof. Samson cuts the checks while the old man is sick. I can’t finish till I get paid.”
Black watched him awhile, took in the buzz cut and the hundred-dollar boots and the sports coat. Still dressed like he was something, but Black knew how bad he was into the bank for, and rumor was he’d partnered with the Kitcheners and their people, lost their money too.
“You started work on the West End Mission yet? I got their people calling about it, like I ain’t got nothin’ better to do with my time,” Black said.
“I need the money from the Lumen job, then I’ll get on it.” Ray swallowed. “Please, Black.”
Black smiled. “I like that you had to say that, Ray.”
Ray glared and Black glared till Ray dropped his eyes.
“He’s downstairs, room three.”
Ray glanced across at Trix and then at Noah. And then he smiled at Black and walked back to see Samson.
*
As days passed Joe Ryan called in more favors. There were six trucks now, parked outside the station. They took turns making runs to Mae’s, bringing back trays of coffee and topping them with liquor in the evenings. There was a news van across the street, local, but Joe had heard the networks were on their way. A missing girl, a member of the church being held, and a sky where night had bled day away for near three weeks.
Yeah, the networks were coming.
Black had come back late the previous night. Joe had watched him careful, looking for signs of change, but Black was a decent enough poker player. There was still no word about charging Samson.
Tommy was drinking coffee and smoking, keeping half an eye on the pretty reporter as she ate her lunch.
Hank Frailey had set up more tables outside the Whiskey Barrel, a fat candle burned on each of them.
They looked up when they heard noise, then they saw Pastor Lumen in his glorified shopping cart, and maybe twenty others behind.
The pretty news reporter dropped her sandwich to the street and ran to the van, rounded her men and prepped.
Black came out fast, followed by Milk and Rusty. They took the steps two at a time and jogged across the grass, hoping to head them off.
Joe glanced up at the station, at the lights burning, and the flags and pillars. When he was seven years old he’d sat on those same steps and waited for his daddy to get out. He couldn’t remember the charge now, one of the minors before the major.
The square had changed some since then, like the shine was all but dull now. Eight stores shuttered, the promise of more.
They were faring better than some; Joe had a cousin in Danton and they’d lost everything. Joe wondered about the consolidation of the mills, about those that gained at costs greater than dollars. He looked at his boys, at their tired faces drawn with worry for his daughter.
There was more yelling so he turned slow and watched the madness unfold.
*
Two hours later lines had been drawn. Pastor Lumen had stood back and watched his people fight for him and for Samson. Black held a hard line, which weren’t all that easy with the old man glaring at him. The church people clustered tight, the braver throwing glances at Joe and his boys, who looked on silent. There were placards calling for Samson’s release.
At one point Deely White glanced over at Austin Ray Chalmers and spit on the ground. Austin was over quick. Milk stepped in before Deely got his ass kicked, then got heckled for his troubles.
Next Deely’s wife spit at Austin as he was walking away. It landed on the back of his pant leg. He pulled a gun, Tommy Ryan wrestled it from him. There were screams.
Then it was Roly Garner’s turn. He took off his Stetson and threw it like a Frisbee toward the Ryan side. Black weren’t exactly sure what he’d hoped to achieve, but he felt the reporter looking on with excitement when one of Joe’s men lit it on fire.
Black sent men to a room at the back of the station to fetch the sandbags. They kept them in store for when the Red spilled. They laid them out in a line down the center of the green to keep the sides apart. It was low enough to climb over and only stretched as far as the street, but neither side was looking to mix much with the other so it held.
Black took Deely and his wife to one side, told them if there was any more riling he’d tell Milk to let it go, then Deely could take his chances with Austin Ray Chalmers. He watched the fight drain outta the pair of them.
Another news van rolled into the square at three o’clock, quickly followed by another and another. The networks had arrived.
Pastor Lumen saw his moment and got Roly to rig a microphone to a big speaker mounted on the back of Deely’s truck. Pastor Lumen stooped low, swiped his good fist from right to left, then rose high and stirred the crowd. He was mad, the cloud had been sent by God himself ’cause something bad was going down in Grace, and the town wouldn’t be rid of it till Samson Lumen was set free. He let out a low growl then stretched his arm up to the sky. Most joined him, then tilted their heads and closed their eyes and united in prayer. The pastor stared at Black and pointed and consecrated.
*
Noah, Raine, and Purv lay star shaped in the grass, heads together, eyes staring straight up. Purv smoked a fat cigar, trying his best to blow rings and frowning when they wouldn’t hold.
“Why’s it so quiet?” Noah said.
“The birds,” Raine said.
After his shift Noah had found Raine waiting in his backyard. There weren’t no talk of the other night, of what she said. Maybe she had nobody else to drive her, maybe there was truth to it, but he weren’t nearly cool or cruel enough to call her out.
They’d taken the Buick, picked up Purv, and headed to the Dayette Women’s Clinic.
It was early evening but still hot outta Grace, the streets cooking with rumors as the temperature soared north of a hundred degrees. Purv groused about sitting in the back. Every time they made a left turn he held tight to the seat in front and worried he’d slide right out the hole where the door used to be. Noah laughed till he was red faced.
They sat till she finished her shift then they followed her Taurus and Noah kept a couple cars back and felt like a real cop.
The lady with the fire-red hair lived in a small apartment above Adler’s, a five and dime on Faust Road, three miles from the clinic. They’d watched her a couple of times now.
From what they got she had three kids, no man, and debt troubles. Raine had fished through her trash and seen red envelopes.
She left the kids alone whenever she went to pray with the West End Mission.
They agreed it was something, ’cause they saw that fire when the preacher spoke of the sanctity of life, but none could figure exactly what. Purv reckoned maybe she was keeping an eye on the holy rollers in case they were planning something, maybe to burn the clinic down.
On the drive back, Raine had told Noah to pull over beside one of the yellow fields on Winans Road. They’d followed her a long way through the rapeseed till they’d come to a lone apple tree, standing on a small mound of grass. Not fifty yards away Noah could see the sun setting, but they stayed on their side, like they belonged.
Raine lay back. She reached a hand up like she could tear a piece from the cloud.
“Is it dropping? I feel like I can’t breathe here,” Noah said.
“You ain’t the only one,” Purv said, coughing. “These Backwoods are fuckin’ deadly.”
“Where’d you get ’em?”
“Barrel. One of the cloud tourists weren’t watching his bag. Black was in last night. Worked through a bottle of Jim Beam, sat alone in the corner outta sight. I wonder why he drinks like that?”
“Maybe he’s haunted by a past case,” Noah said.
“Fuckin’ cliché,” Raine fired back.
“Maybe he just likes the taste of whiskey,” Purv said.
Purv stubbed the cigar out then buried the end in the dirt beside. As he leaned down his T-shirt rode up and Noah caught a glimpse of another nasty welt on his back. He glanced over at Raine, saw she’d seen it too.
“I was thinkin’ maybe we should go and see Pastor Bobby,” Purv said, quiet.
“Why?” Noah said.
“This cloud.”
“What?”
“I know you’ll say it’s bullshit, but people keep sayin’ God sent it down to Grace for whatever reason.”
“You’re right, that’s bullshit.”
“But what if it ain’t? What if it is somethin’ to do with God? We ain’t exactly prepared.”
“For what?” Noah said. He looked over at the sunset again, saw a swift land on the earth, glance into the darkness then take off.
“The end,” Purv said, looking to Raine and then Noah, afraid they’d get on him. He brought a hand up and touched his hair. “You’re supposed to tell all the bad shit you’ve done over the years. All the shit that God ain’t gonna look on kindly. You tell him then he forgives you and lets you into heaven. Ain’t that right?”
“That’s the way they tell it,” Raine said.
“Then we should go see Bobby ’cause it’s better to be safe. If somethin’ bad happens . . . is all I’m sayin.”
“You don’t even have to tell a pastor. You can just confess, right now. Sayin’ it out loud is enough. God hears everything,” Raine said.
“All right. Worst thing you’ve done,” Noah said.
Purv looked down. “Those sunglasses Noah wears . . . I stole ’em from a blind man over in Windale.”
Noah puffed out his cheeks.
“I tried to take his dog too –”
“Jesus,” Raine said.
“It wouldn’t come. Beautiful thing with a golden coat.”
“Loyal too,” Noah said.
“Anything else?” Raine said.
Purv went quiet.
“Spill it,” Raine said. “You wanna go up when the end comes or not?”
He looked up and around like he thought somebody might’ve been listening. “And I think about killing him,” he said, his eyes burning with pride or shame or maybe both.
Noah reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You reckon God will understand that?” Purv said, looking up.
“Yeah,” Noah said.
“Yeah,” Raine said.
Purv nodded, like maybe he felt better, then he took another Backwoods out and lit it. “Anyone else goin’?”
“How long you got?” Raine said.
Purv smiled.
“Sometimes I hate my momma,” she said.
Purv watched her, smoked and coughed and watched the shadow over her face. She took a Marlboro from her bag and he lit it for her and watched it glow.
She spoke in a dead tone. “I hate her for the way she looks at me, and the way she looks at my sister. I hate her for only seeing the difference between us.” She blew smoke toward the cloud. “I ain’t sure that’s a sin, but it don’t feel right. I know she had it tough, with my daddy and all.” She swallowed and turned.
Noah felt the quiet after, like it was his turn. He wouldn’t say they were lucky to have parents to hate. He worked out years back that he was better off alone. It weren’t a hard truth no more, though he learned it those long nights when the nurses stopped by and drowned his momma’s cries with drugs while he sat out back and stared up at her window. Those days were short, the nights long and winding. He didn’t know what to say to her, didn’t know how to look at her when she turned thin and gaunt and her new smile scared him ’cause it weren’t even close to the same. One night a lady came and sat with her. She was old and trained and she spoke about closure and legacy as Noah listened from the door.
He didn’t cry. Not during or after or ever. He was brave. He was fierce.
Before long Purv drifted off ’cause he didn’t get much sleep at home.
Noah got to his feet when Raine did. They walked over to the apple tree. Last light dying ten feet from its roots.
“You reckon it’s funny we ain’t never spoke before, like at school or something?” he said.
“No. You and Purv are losers, no offense.”
He frowned. “I ain’t sure it’s possible not to take offense.”
She nodded.
She turned and crossed into bleeding sunset and when he saw her standing golden he drew breath.
“Sometimes I forget when I was small, when life weren’t nothin’ like it is now. These are supposed to be the good days, the easy time,” she said. “If I look back and that’s true then I wonder what kinda mess is waitin’ on me.”
“You’ll be okay, Raine.”
“You don’t know shit, Noah.”
“I know, I just, I see you –”
“What? What do you see?” She said it hard.
He kept his eyes down. “I see a nice house, like maybe those ones on the other side of Hell’s Gate, in the nice part of Brookdale. They got the painted fences. And I see two kids, probably twins—boys though. Maybe you’ll be good at baking cakes or somethin’.”
He looked up and maybe he caught the tail of a smile before she turned away.
“Black reckons Samson didn’t do nothin’.”
She turned. “He say that?”
“Black’s taken a few runs at him and Samson ain’t wavered. It holds up, that he was just helpin’ her carry her cello ’cause the case was broken.”
“My momma checked. The case is broke. The handle snapped.”
“So that part is true at least. That’s somethin’.”
“Is it? If Samson ain’t got her, if he don’t know where she is then we got nothin’. That’s the way my daddy sees it. That’s why he won’t let Samson go. Walking her home is enough to get him in trouble. You should’ve seen my daddy’s face, he was fit to be tied, and that was before all that about Summer fallin’ for an older man.”
“We’ll keep lookin’. We’ll find the Bird,” he said.
“And then what?”
“We’ll –”
“You ain’t tough, Noah. That fight or flight, it can’t be taught or forgot. Maybe you stand up to the big kids and take a hidin’ for Purv, and that’s decent doin’ that, but you don’t want what’s comin’.”
He looked down, away from her eyes.
“I feel it, my life is turnin’, there’s somethin’ bad happening out there. You’re all right. Maybe you and Purv got trouble at home but that ain’t nothin’. You’ll leave it behind. My fight ain’t yours. And maybe you reckon you got a shot with me ’cause you’ll treat me nice and that’s what I need. But you don’t even see, none of y’all do. I need my sister, she’s all I need.”
He stepped forward and she stepped back.
“I’ll find her. I’ll help you, don’t matter what you say. Don’t matter how brave or strong or fierce I am.”
She stared at him.
“And we got the gun.”
“You ever fired a gun, Noah?”
*
The apple was twenty yards away, on a mound of earth Raine had built up with her hands. Dirt and sweat colored her face as she stood beside Noah and told him how to sight. He put two bullets well wide, glanced back and saw Purv watching from the shadows.
“This gun ain’t standard issue,” Noah said, frowning. “Put a Koch in my hand and I’ll make apple sauce.”
Raine turned her back for a minute and he saw her shoulders shaking.
“Are you laughin’?” he said.
He saw her head shake and then she turned back, mouth tight like she was fighting a smile.
“It’s too dark now,” he said.
“Remember to breathe this time.”
He fired and missed again.
He took a moment. “My father was a crack shot.”
“You’ll hit it.”
“If I do will you let me take you out to dinner?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“You won’t hit it.”
“Then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”
“All right,” she said.
He dropped to a kneel, pulled the trigger, then heard the crack and watched the apple kick up from the dirt.
He turned to her and grinned wide, then he went to hug her and she threatened to shoot him.