Dark River Road (9 page)

“What’cha wanna do now, Chantry?” Mikey asked, and he sat down beside him on the bench. “Wanna see if Shadow can do it again?”

“Not today. This is enough for the first time.”

Mikey just nodded, and his eyes went to the playground where children laughed and shrieked on the swing sets and slides. He had a wistful look that cut straight to Chantry’s gut. He thought about how selfish he was being to save money to buy a dog when Mikey needed so much. It’d be better if he helped Mama pay for the doctors. But maybe by the time he had enough saved Mama would have figured out a way to pay for everything, or the state bureaucrats would change their mind and pony up the rest of the money instead of send Mama those short letters saying she made too much money to qualify for medical aid. He’d seen her cry over the last one, but she’d stopped real quick when she saw him standing in the doorway.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” she’d said then, and folded the letter and stuffed it in her pocket. If it hadn’t fallen out and he hadn’t read it, he might not have known just why she had that tragic look in her eyes. But it had and he had, and now he felt even worse that he still hadn’t done the right thing and given Mama any money to put in savings.

She hadn’t asked, didn’t expect him to help, and somehow that made it worse, too. Mama never expected any help. And she damn sure didn’t get any.

Maybe when he got his first full week’s paycheck from the vet he’d give it to her. Then he could still keep saving for Shadow, too. There would be registration fees for the GCSA to pay so he could enter Shadow in the trials. He hadn’t decided yet what class. Nursery was for any dog thirty months or under, and by next winter, Shadow should be ready to enter. The Gulf Coast Stock Association annual fees were only twenty dollars, but he’d have to pay for each class entered. There were cash prizes for some, but what mattered most to him was the number of points. At the end of any calendar year, the dog with the most points would be declared the High Point Dog of the Year. That’d make the dog much more valuable. He could breed a valuable dog, make extra money.

After a little while of watching the other kids play, Mikey sagged against him and Chantry said it was time for them to go home. He didn’t argue, but climbed onto his back like he was told and put his thin arms around Chantry’s neck to hold on.

“Don’t go too fast, Chantry.”

“I won’t.”

Mikey’s leg braces cut into his arms some as he trudged across the park, but he didn’t pay it any attention, thinking instead about the work he had to do to get Shadow ready for any kind of competition. It’d be hard holding off Rainey when he got a wild hair and wanted to sell the dog for whatever amount he could get. Mama was right about that. Only the promise of two thousand dollars he didn’t have to earn would keep Rainey’s eye on the goal.

Shadow trotted beside them, keeping pace despite constant distractions of squirrels and birds that made him whine eagerly. Chantry held tight to the lead. When he got to the far edge of the park, they had to go down a small hill, then up to the other side that brought them out close to Sugarditch. It was the back way, usually just used for work trucks. A low concrete block building was locked up for the weekend, and the city truck used for hauling dirt stood in the empty lot. No fence secured it, but there’d never been a need for one.

He didn’t know what made him look, some movement at the corner of his vision maybe, but he looked over at the lot in time to see a blond haired kid climb up into the cab of the truck. Chris Quinton. With his two familiar sidekicks on his heels.

He stopped to watch. After a moment the truck fired up, engine rumbling. They were going to steal that truck. Chantry watched in disbelief. It was a stupid thing to do, even for Chris. The huge vehicle lurched forward, stalled and died. He heard them laugh; then the engine turned over again. Once more it rolled forward, then died. This time they left the truck, leaping down to the ground and abandoning it.

Chantry decided it was time to get out of there. If they were in the mood for trouble, he didn’t want to be anywhere close by.

He started down the hill, grass slick beneath his feet, Mikey a clumsy weight on his back and the dog pulling him off-balance. Going downhill was easy enough, going back up was harder.

He made it to the top, breathing hard, and halted to catch his breath. A narrow road ran between the park and the railroad easement. He’d follow the train tracks a ways, then cut over to Sugarditch.

As he started across the road, a red truck came around the corner and braked to a halt in front of him, blocking his path.

“Hey, fag. I knew that was you. What’re you doing spying on us?”

Chantry let Mikey slowly to the ground, one hand holding him for balance, the other still on Shadow’s leash. He decided to play stupid.

“When?”

The truck door opened. Chris stepped out, and Chantry heard the other door open. Damn. He hated being caught like this. Chris grinned real cocky.

“Just now. You saw us. Brad said you did.”

Brad Durbin came around the front of the truck. He’d made tight end on the football team this year, a big boy who was quick on his feet and bulky if not particularly bright. His father was the plant manager at Quinton Cotton Works. The third boy was Adam Wimberly. Fat. He just did whatever Chris wanted him to do.

Chantry didn’t answer, and Chris got braver.

“Ain’t got no old man to back you up this time, fag. You out here all by yourself ‘cept for that crippled kid and a mangy mutt.” Brad laughed and Adam smirked, both acting like Chris had said something really smart. Chantry didn’t move or speak, just stared at Chris until his eyes got narrow and the grin on his face faded some.

Chris reached out and gave him a shove. “So what’cha gonna do, Callahan?” A mean look creased his face. “Still think you can win a fight without your old nigger backing you up?”

“Thought we settled that the last time you called Dempsey that name.” Chantry gently shoved Mikey to one side, thrust the dog’s leash into his brother’s hand and stepped away from them. If there was going to be a fight, he wanted them gone. “Go home, Mikey. Now.”

He was used to fighting more than one at a time. Beau and Rafe had never been shy about ganging up on him. It’d taught him a lot. But he didn’t like having distractions, and he didn’t want Mikey anywhere near to catch the backlash.

Mikey whimpered a protest, but stumbled a few feet away to stand uncertainly in the middle of the street. Shadow strained at the leash, whining and growling like he knew there was trouble. He wished Mikey would get out of the street and go home like he’d told him. He didn’t like that he was still so close.

“We didn’t settle nothin’,” Chris said. “You got in a few lucky punches before you got rescued.”

“Seems to me you was the one needed rescuin’.” Chantry balanced on the balls of his feet, arms at his sides but ready. Fierce anger still ate at him. He hadn’t forgotten that cross burning in Dempsey’s front yard.

“Yeah? You think so? Well, this time you’re the one gonna need help.” Chris made his move finally, a quick punch that Chantry evaded with a sidestep. He turned into the step, brought his arm back around so his fist connected with Chris’s nose. It sent him crashing back against the side of his truck. Before Chris could recover he hit him again, this time a hard left to the belly that bent him double with a loud grunt.

Brad dove at him, caught Chantry around the middle and took him to the ground. They rolled on the gravel road as Brad punched him a couple of times. They weren’t hard punches since the bigger boy was off-balance, but hard enough to rock his head back and split his lip. He was used to this kind of fighting, being outnumbered and outweighed, and didn’t let the punches get to him. He focused on getting leverage, giving Brad just enough room to pull back for another punch and leave himself open. It didn’t take too long. Brad hauled back and rocked to his feet, bending over and holding Chantry’s shirt in one hand while he drew back his other fist.

Chantry brought his leg up and caught him behind the knee, hard. Brad went down like a sack of meal, and he rolled to his feet just in time to get hit by Adam, who’d finally worked up the courage to step in. They both went sideways into the grass. Adam was easy to beat down. It took only a couple of punches to put him out of commission, but by then Chris was on him again and Brad was getting to his feet. They piled on top of him. The breath got knocked out of him so he couldn’t get any air, couldn’t see anything but a haze of angry faces and fists. He managed to put his arms up over his face. Fists thudded into him, it seemed like from every direction.

He heard somebody hollering, then suddenly the weight lifted and he could twist free. He rolled to his knees and tried to push up from the ground. A hand grabbed his shoulder and he jerked loose, stumbled to his feet and spun around so fast that he nearly lost his balance and went back down. Everything was a blur. Something wet kept running into his eyes. Sweat maybe. It stung.

“Hold on there, son. Don’t be swinging at me.”

Chantry sucked in a gulp of air but it made his ribs and belly hurt. He shook his head and that hurt, too, but his vision cleared some. Dale Ledbetter held up a hand, palm out.

“Just stand there a minute. Don’t any of you move.”

Chris and Brad started talking at the same time, accusing Chantry of attacking them for no reason. Adam Wimberly still lay on the ground, moaning. Chantry didn’t say anything. He didn’t think he could talk even if someone held a gun on him. His mouth felt thick, and he still couldn’t see worth anything.

After a minute Mr. Ledbetter said, “I’ve heard enough. Just so there’s no misunderstanding, boys, I saw enough, too. It’s none of my business if you boys want to fight, but one on one. I don’t much care for three against one.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Chris said incredulously, “You’re going to take that white trash’s side?”

“No. I’m not taking any side. I’m just telling you to keep it clean and honest. Something you might want to think about, Mr. Quinton. Do you suppose you boys can go your own ways now without any more trouble?”

One of Chantry’s eyes wouldn’t open. He peered through his good eye at Mr. Ledbetter and nodded. He just wanted to find Mikey and get home.

Mr. Ledbetter looked at him. “I’ll give you a ride.”

Chantry shook his head and nearly choked at the wave of pain that act summoned. “I can walk,” he got out.

“I’m sure you can. But your little brother is already in my car and he can’t. Might as well accept the offer. I don’t intend to leave you boys here to fight some more.”

There wasn’t much choice. Chantry slid a look at Chris, then went with Mr. Ledbetter. He had Mikey in the back of his car like he’d said, and Shadow sat in the cargo area panting happily and looking like he rode in a new Bronco every day. It was black and shiny, and Mrs. Ledbetter sat up front, looking a little horrified when she saw Chantry.

“Good heavens,” she started to say, but her husband cut her off with a quick wave of his hand and she lapsed into silence. Chantry felt a wave of shame. He probably looked like a street kid, dirty and bloody and rough. Sugarditch trash. Mama would cry if she saw him like this.

Two little kids sat in the back, strapped into car seats, and Chantry ended up riding in the very back with Shadow. The car still smelled new. Now it’d smell like dog. And blood.

“I’ll clean your car for you,” he told Mr. Ledbetter when he stopped at the end of Liberty Road where Chantry insisted he leave them. “It got a little dirty where I was sitting.”

“Don’t worry about it. I pay people at the lot to do that for me. It keeps them gainfully employed and out of trouble. You might try that yourself.”

“Yessir.” Chantry didn’t offer any explanation or make any excuses. People never really believed them anyway, even when it was the truth. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Are you mad at me, Chantry?” Mikey asked as they walked down the gravel road toward the house. “I didn’t know what to do, and he stopped and asked if I was lost and I just told him you were in trouble. Is that okay?”