The Redeemers (22 page)

“We made a deal,” Peewee said. “I ain’t going back on it. He’s cutting us in on ten grand apiece.”

“How much you think is in there?”

“Might be a million,” he said. “Might be more.”

“After all we done?” Chase said. “What the hell?”

“I gave my word,” Peewee said, lifting his chin, looking at him with big eyes in still-dirty glasses. “Means something to me.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Hell you say.”

“They get a million?” Chase said. “And we get shit.”

“Kid,” Peewee said. “Do you have any idea how much pussy a man can purchase with ten grand?”

“Hmm,” Chase said, sliding down off those concrete blocks, hands deep in his pockets. “That’s the difference between you and me. I don’t pay for pussy.”

“Wait till you get old and fat,” Peewee said. “You’ll toss out every penny you got.”

Chase just shook his head and brushed past his uncle and into the work shed, where Kyle was unloading the safe and stacking all the shit he’d found on a workbench. The cash raised up about two feet and spread out about two feet square, more coming out of the metal box. Along the long wooden bench were several guns. Some of them looked like they went all the way back to the Civil War. A gold pocket watch. The fancy wristwatch with diamonds. A bunch of old coins, stacked neat and clean, in blue books. Some dang porno tapes. Not DVDs but damn old VHS, advertising women with big hair and big hairy pussies. A fat diamond ring and a red velvet box filled with diamond earrings as big as walnuts.

“Whew.”

“Step back,” Kyle said. He was sweating, too. His skinny-ass old-man body looking bony, a thin strip of gray hair down his chest.

“I ain’t touching nothing.”

“I’m taking inventory.”

“Sure was a haul.”

“And you’ll get what you’re gittin’.”

“I understand.”

Kyle got up off his knees, bare chest, dirty jeans, and work boots, and walked over to the bench for a fresh beer. He popped the top and looked to have drunk half of it straight down. He watched Chase, standing there, not doing a goddamn thing, with his hands in his ’Bama hoodie and trying not to make any trouble. But then Chase realized Kyle was wondering about the gun he’d used on the policeman. And maybe it was in the hoodie right now, waiting to take out old Kyle’s gray ass and scoop up the rest for a trip back to Gordo. But, hell, it only made him laugh.

“What is it?” Kyle said.

“You think I’m going to shoot you.”

“No.”

“Sure you do,” Chase said. “You’re scared as a bitch.”

Kyle reached on the counter for a pack of cigarettes, shuffled out one, and walked on over to where Chase stood. The old man slapped the dog shit out of Chase, sending his head reeling back, and reached into his hoodie pocket for the .32 he’d bought with his own goddamn money. Kyle stuck it in the small of his back, tucked into his belt, and returned to work.

“Wait outside,” he said. “Tell your uncle that money is coming.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Kyle didn’t answer, just went back to unloading the cash and making his selfish little piles like a fat man at a buffet. Chase came on out back as Peewee was relieving himself on the blocks where he planned to sit. “You get the money?” he said, looking over his shoulders. “I’m getting ready to get gone, kid.”

19.

W
e appreciate you coming in, Mickey,” Lillie Virgil said. “Come on in and take a seat.”

“Can you tell me what the hell’s going on?” Mickey said. “I hadn’t been home an hour when two deputies come pounding on my door and telling me to put my pants on.”

“Glad you have on pants,” Lillie said, Mickey Walls moving on past her inside the sheriff’s main office. “Makes things a little more professional.”

“I told them I’d cooperate with whatever they need, but neither of them told me nothing the whole ride into town,” he said. “You know I just got back from Gulf Shores? I went down there to party a bit with Tonya Cobb. You know Tonya.”

“Of course I know Tonya,” Lillie said, pulling a chair up to the desk that had been Quinn’s. “She used to teach Sunday school at the First Baptist before she got into all that trouble with the youth pastor.”

Mickey didn’t answer, taking a seat as Rusty Wise walked into the room, holding a bottle of Coca-Cola. The room was empty except for the desk, a couple chairs. Nothing at all on the white walls but hooks.

“How was your trip?” Rusty said.

Lillie shot him a look, as both of them had agreed that she’d be the one who’d take over the questioning. It had been a long time since he’d been a cop and he had no experience as a detective. But he should at least know to let the suspect tell the story, not lead him or validate him in any way. Any son of a bitch who watched
Law & Order
could tell you that. Rusty gave a shy smile and moved back behind the desk but didn’t sit down, just leaned over the back of a ladder-back chair, eyes watching Lillie.

“Larry Cobb’s place got busted into last night.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

“Thought you might have heard something,” she said. “You being close to the family and all. Maybe something that might help.”

“Wish I could,” Mickey said. “Larry and Debbi have been good to me. I was just down on the Gulf with Tonya. You know. Trying to work things out.”

“Yeah, you told us that,” Lillie said. “Several times.”

Mickey just nodded, mouth hanging a little open, looking like a man who might have just hightailed it back from Gulf Shores overnight. He had on a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt under an old Carhartt jacket and gray sweatpants with boots. His breath smelled of liquor and he needed a shave. Cleotha was in her office right now making calls to the owners of the condo where he said he’d stayed.

“You drove all the way back at midnight?” Lillie said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I got shit to do. Had a good time, but a few things needed my attention back home.”

“Like what?” Rusty Wise said, leaning onto the back of the chair. “Long way to go in the middle of the night.”

Mickey looked small and huddled-up in the chair in front of Quinn’s old desk. His eyes shifted to where Lillie stood by the closed door and then back to Rusty. He closed his mouth and swallowed, rubbing the whiskers on his face. “Are y’all trying to say something here?” he said. “I got no reason to rob nobody. You know that. Y’all both know me. I hadn’t ever been in trouble with the law. Maybe two speeding tickets in ten years.”

Rusty lifted a hand in a stop gesture and said, “Slow down. Slow down. Just asking, Mickey. We had a deputy shot last night.”

“Shit,” Mickey said. “Who?”

“Kenny.”

“God damn,” he said. “Son of a bitch.”

“He’s in rough shape,” Lillie said, watching Mickey’s hangdog face, trying to read something from any reaction. But he didn’t change expression, dumb mouth hanging open again, small brown eyes looking ahead. “He’s in his second surgery.”

“Hell of a first day on the job,” Rusty said, pushing his little fat self up off the chair and walking around the unfamiliar desk. “One of my deputies getting shot in a home invasion. You may not think you know something, but anything might help.”

“Why the hell y’all want to talk to me?”

Rusty took a breath and looked to Lillie, turning it over to her. Lillie sat down on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, and said, “Larry Cobb said y’all haven’t been the best of friends lately.”

“Well,” he said. “Shit. Doesn’t mean I want to rob him. Or shoot a deputy.”

“Nobody is accusing you of shooting Kenny,” Rusty said. “Understand? We just thought you might heard something about what happened. From someone. Maybe folks who work for you who are out to get Larry?”

Mickey fingered something in his eye and laughed a bit. “Out to get Cobb?” he said. “How about you open up the Jericho and Tibbehah County phone book? I think he probably cheated or pissed off about everyone in it. I can’t believe y’all came to me. Thinking I got something to do with this. You know me. Mickey Walls. I’m the carpet guy. I fix houses. Mr. Big Shot. Shit, Lillie, I laid the honeycomb tile in your bathroom last year.”

“And it’s looking fine,” she said. “Top-notch groutwork.”

“This shit pisses me off,” Mickey said. “It really does.”

“So you hadn’t heard anything?” Rusty said, standing up over by the window, looking out toward the chain-link of the county jail. The morning drunks and prisoners milling about in the dead brown-grass yard, smoking cigarettes, taking fried pies from their people through the holes in the fence. Lillie wished she had a cigarette right about now. She hadn’t stopped since getting the call on Kenny.

“OK,” Lillie said. “If it were you, who’d you try and talk to about what happened at Cobb’s place?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “How the hell should I know?”

Lillie nodded at the cold Coke in his hand. “You want me to pop that top?”

Mickey leaned forward and set the bottle on the desk with a hard plunk. She could tell he was getting nervous with her and Rusty standing over him, asking all these questions, while he clearly looked tired as hell. Probably should give the man a break, let him go sleep a while, and then check back with him. From behind Mickey, Rusty Wise shrugged his shoulders. Useless. Completely useless. Quinn would’ve gotten something from him. He’d come a long way in four years, getting folks to trust him without aiming a gun.

Mickey looked ready to bolt. He hadn’t been arrested. They had no reason to talk to him other than being the first name Larry Cobb mentioned. But she had one more thing. A good one, and she’d leave him with a little something to consider. For all she knew, he was innocent and had just driven home because Tonya Cobb wouldn’t give it up last night. Even after probably downing a couple pitchers.

“You still run with Kyle Hazlewood?” she said, just leaving the information hanging there. It wasn’t much, but they had two folks who’d seen Mickey and Kyle together lately. She also had learned that Kyle had threatened to kick Larry Cobb right in the pussy after he thought he’d been cheated. According to Cobb, Hazlewood had done a shit job on his property and Cobb wouldn’t pay him.

“Some,” Mickey said. “I hadn’t seen him in a few months. Been too busy.”

Lillie watched him hard and nodded, not saying anything for a good twenty seconds. “And you don’t have any idea who’d want to get back at Cobb for something?”

“Why’s it got to be getting back at him?” Mickey said, getting good and mad. “Shit, it was probably just a bunch of blacks from Tupelo looking for a place to rob and Cobb’s place is good as any.”

“You know what he kept in that safe?” Rusty said, smoothing down his brand-new sheriff’s uniform and hitching up his belt.

“No,” Mickey said.

“He never told you?” Rusty said.

“Nope,” Mickey said. “Are we done here?”

•   •   •

C
’mon, man,” Kyle said. “You’re the one who told me not to call. For any damn reason.”

“I sure would’ve like to know y’all just shot a damn deputy.”

“Wasn’t me,” Kyle said. “That ain’t my deal. I was in the fucking van.”

Mickey was driving his red Hummer around the Jericho Square, just kind of circling until he decided on where he’d head next. He wanted to go home, but what if some more law was waiting for him again? He knew they didn’t have jack shit on him. They’d probably tracked Tonya down right after he left and asked where he was last night. Shit. Tonya. Last time he saw her brown tan ass, she was tossing his fucking luggage off a high-rise. But there were credit cards used, folks who’d seen them at the Flora-Bama. And his damn clothes were still there. Maybe it’d be best if he just hightailed it back down there, laid low till all this was over.

“Mickey?” Kyle said. “You fucking listening to me, man? I said that fat bastard Peewee Sparks nearly got us caught and his retard son done shot Kenny.”

“It’s his nephew.”

“Hell, man,” Kyle said. “I don’t give a good goddamn. I want you to get on over here and help me with all this shit you wanted. I got my money. Rest is yours.”

“What’d you get?”

“Nine hundred and sixty-six thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“Shit, yes, dollars,” Kyle said. “Ain’t no Chuck E. Cheese tokens, man. And I got some of Larry’s guns and watches. Jewelry and shit.”

“Bury it,” Mickey said. “Bury the money and go and toss all the other shit in the Big Black River. I don’t give a damn. But that stuff. The personal stuff is what’s gonna fuck us in the ass real hard.”

“Where are you?”

“Just left the sheriff’s office after a little heart-to-heart with Lillie Virgil and Rusty Wise.”

“Who the hell is he?” Kyle said.

“The new sheriff out to make a name for himself.”

“Where you want me to bury it?”

“How about where it can’t be found.”

Mickey aimed the Hummer onto Cotton Road and left the Square and headed back toward 45, seriously considering just going right on back to the beach. Tonya would be pissed. She was always pissed. But he’d call her on the way, say he’d gotten real scared because he was having deep feelings for her. And that scared him. Or some of that Dr. Phil shit. She’d pout a little. But then he’d give her what she’d been wanting later today and all would be forgiven.

“I got straight with Sparks.”

“Good,” Mickey said. “I hope to never see those people ever again. Reminds me of why I left my other wife.”

“Mickey?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like this,” Kyle said. “I didn’t sign on for no shooting.”

“Me, neither.”

“Should have been just me and you,” he said. “Why’d you involve these people? They ain’t right in the head. Bunch of Alabama retards.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“They gonna get us,” Kyle said. “You do know that?”

Mickey ended the call and kept on driving east toward the highway. Not really sure what to do next. All he could do right now was drive.

•   •   •

Q
uinn’s mother was cooking black-eyed peas for the New Year. That’s just something you did, something every Southern woman did on the first of the year. She’d always cook them with some salty country ham and toss a dime in the pot, the person finding the dime being the one with the most luck for the year. He watched his mother over the stove, stirring, talking about going to visit Caddy in a couple weeks. “Would you like to come along?” she said. “I think she’d appreciate it.”