Thirty Miles South Of Dry County (2 page)

“It’s Kirkland, that bastard,” Sven said. He were shakin’ with rage as he stepped inside the store and smacked a hand down over the panel of light switches beside the door. Only three of the six fluorescents blinked to life, and even those didn’t stay fully lit for long before dimmin’ and flickerin’. But there were light enough to see what’d happened to the place, seemingly overnight.

“Goddamn it,” Sven breathed, soundin’ like his car.

It took a full minute for my eyes to adjust, another to register what I were seein’, and even then it kind of hurt my brain.

We was standin’ in a jungle.

On a normal day if you stood at the door and looked in, you’d find yourself faced with six aisles lined by shelves, each one stocked with whiskey, wine, vodka, gin, brandy, tequila and some other kind of fancy foreign shit in queer bottles no one ever bought, or even spared a glance. To your left, down by the far wall and an emergency exit that to my knowledge were never used, you had your checkout station, long and low and serviceable, where Sven—and, on the weekends, Janice Farrier—presided over the place. To your right and all along the wall opposite the door, you had your man-size coolers, jam-packed with beer of every kind. What I’m sayin’ is that it didn’t look no different from any other liquor store.

But that day, it looked like no other, though I guess I ain’t never seen what liquor stores in the Amazon look like.

The place were smothered with vines. Kudzu, with enormous spade-shaped leaves. It looked like they’d sprouted from a hundred holes in the floor, rippin’ up the tile and windin’ their way in and around the shelves, the lights, the counter, the coolers. They’d even managed to open a few of the cooler doors, and they was packed in there like dark green intestines. The store were alive with ‘em. Shattered bottles of liquor gleamed in the small spaces between the thick networks of vines coverin’ the floor. The ceilin’ were coated with dark green veins and arteries and cotton-colored blossoms. These was kind of pretty, though it wouldn’t’ve been nice to point that out while Sven was busy grindin’ his teeth down to nubs. The air were warm, sticky, and slightly noxious, makin’ it hard to breathe. Even when you did, you felt like you was tuggin’ gauze in over your tongue.

“Ain’t this somethin’?” Old Dick said, with a kind of awe. I noticed he were sweatin’. We all was.

“It is.” I looked at Sven. “The hell happened here? You plant somethin’?”

Sven face looked like a plum about ready to split. “Don’t be thick.”

“Well, I’m just wonderin—”

“I wouldn’t sell.”

“How’s that?”

“Kirkland. Mayor of that shithole town that shouldn’t even have a mayor. He’s trying to buy up all the property on the outskirts and beyond. Wants to ‘assimilate’—his word—the surrounding businesses into Milestone. ‘Expansion,’ he said. Told him I wouldn’t sell.”

“And…so you reckon
he
did this?”

“Man must have a hell of a green thumb,” Dick said.

“Yeah, but…” I looked from him to the vines and back to Sven. “
How?
”

He gave me a witherin’ look. “Count the number of times you’ve asked that question in relation to the things that have happened in that town or anywhere close to its borders. The
how
don’t matter. Never has.”

One of the three flickerin’ fluorescents gave up the ghost. The shadows grew thicker and the vines seemed to move around us like snakes circlin’ a mongoose. Water dripped steadily somewhere in the dark. Black dust sailed through the air. I glanced fearfully down at my feet, sure I were gonna find them buried beneath thick ropes, and saw only my shoes. Like me, and Sven’s Volkswagen, they had seen better days.

“Seems to me that ruinin’ a place is a funny way to go about acquirin’ it,” I told Sven.

“Yeah, well.” Sven dropped to his haunches to probe a tendril of vine that were as big as his wrist. “Funny or not, that’s what he’s done. And I doubt it’s the store he wants. Just the land.”

“Might want to be sure about that before you go causin’ a stir.”

Sven raised his hand, his fingertips green and wet. “Oh I’m sure all right. You remember my brother, Stellan?”

I did, but not fondly. The older of the two Hansson brothers had a stick up his ass so long he pole-vaulted instead of walkin’. Came out of the womb miserable and left everyone he met feelin’ the same.

“Sure. Ain’t seen him since you broke his nose though.”

“Right, and the
reason
I broke his nose is because I caught him in my office digging for the deed to the store, which I’m sure as God made geese he was fixing on handing over to Kirkland for about ten grand, which is probably twice what he owes his drug dealer.”

“That wouldn’t have been legal though, would it?”

“What’s legal anymore, Tan? Did the law ever fix anything or anyone in that goddamn town as long as we’ve known it? What about Sheriff Turner and his boy? They tried to restore law and look how they ended up. All Kirkland needed was the deed. Didn’t matter how he got his hands on it. As you can see…” He swept a tremblin’ hand over the landscape of moist vegetation before us. “…He isn’t your average megalomaniac.”

“Best reason I can think of not to mess with him then,” Old Dick said. “’Less you know some witchery of your own.”

“This isn’t witchery,” Sven said. “Kirkland’s just one of those rare men talented enough to make the world bend to his will. I’ve known folks like that before, and wasn’t a goddamn one of them I felt comfortable being around. We think they’re freaks because we don’t understand them, but this isn’t about understanding. He wants
me
to bend for him and I won’t, so he’s going to try to ruin me.”

“And what are you goin’ to do about it?” I asked him.

“Simple,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Ruin him first.”

* * *

With all hope of a peaceful day blown to smithereens, the focus within me shifted toward doin’ whatever I could to get Sven to change his mind. At that point, I didn’t know much about Kirkland, other than that he’d apparently become mayor of the town by self-appointment. There weren’t no council, least none that anyone had heard about. No vote and hardly a pause for introduction before he were runnin’ things. Why anyone would want to govern a town like Milestone were beyond me, and spoke volumes about the kind of man he must be.

So, without botherin’ to take stock of his losses (though I guess it were all right there before us), Sven turned on a heel and stormed out, slammin’ his hands against the door so hard the bell didn’t even have a chance to
ting!
It just rattled dully against the wood and went quiet. Busted, probably.

“Where you goin’?” I asked the Swede, sure I already knew.

“Milestone.”

He were younger than me by about fifteen years, about a hundred pounds heavier, and a damn sight faster. Not without considerable effort—which I’d pay for later—I caught up to him and locked a hand on his shoulder. He stopped and when he turned, there were a wild, dangerous look in his eyes that said he’d never dreamed of hittin’ an old man before but on that day wouldn’t have minded poppin’ me in the mouth to make himself feel better about the way his luck were goin’. Then that look drained like the dirty oil from beneath his Volkswagen and he ran his fingers through his hair. Sighed.

“What, Tan?”

“You’re fired up.”

“No shit.”

“So fired up you ain’t thinkin’ straight.”

“I’m thinking fine.”

“Not a single one of us ever crossed the border of that town. We didn’t because we’re afraid of it. But here you go runnin’ off half-cocked and ready for war, forgettin’ all the stories, forgettin’ what that place
is
. How far do you think you’re goin’ to get? You think a head of steam is somehow goin’ to change the nature of Milestone ‘specially for you, and things will just…work out?”

“Get your hand off me,” Sven said, and I knew by his tone he weren’t goin’ to ask a second time, so I did.

“Your fight ain’t with me,” I reminded him. “Ain’t with Dick neither, though might be better for you if it was.”

“I’m not like you or Dick. I’m not so old that I’ve lost my nerve or forgotten my pride.”

That stung, but I guess he had a point. Sven were fresh from countin’ his losses. I seldom got free of my own. Couldn’t keep my own business back in NC from goin’ under, or my kids from turnin’ into foul-mouthed ingrates we never heard from less they needed money. Couldn’t keep my beloved wife from sufferin’ while the cancer took its time with her, and I couldn’t leave this godforsaken place because I were too old, too settled, and too afraid that if I drummed up the courage to try I’d find the road were gone because I’d waited too long.

And as for Dick…well, he also had his failures and secrets, which was why none of us did anythin’ but joke when it came to his wife. In private, Sven and me had our own way of finishin’ the story of the day Dick’s wife had left him for another man, and what he’d done when he tracked them down. Without proof though, it were just another story, and it would only have an end for us when and if Dick chose to share it. So when I looked at him I saw Sven’s words had left their mark there too. His face were like a lake in the wake of a boat.

Dust danced in swirls around our feet.

“That’s fine,” I said. “You want to insult me, you go right ahead. Hell, throw a few punches if it’ll help keep you here, but if you get in that shitheap of yours, you’re a fool,” I cautioned. “Might as well get your affairs in order first.”

“There’s nothing left to tend to,” he said. “Except this.”

Sven spat and walked away, bound for his car, then stopped after two steps and turned back to face me. “It’s a town, Tan. Just a town. Streets and buildings. Run by a man. That’s all. The rest is superstition, and I’ve been just as dumb as you two old goats in believing it to be anything different.”

“I still think—”

“I don’t really give a shit what you think, Tan, and if you think I do you might as well get used to looking down the greasy barrel of me not giving a fuck. Did he come looking to buy up your place? Or yours, Dick? No. It isn’t your livelihood that just got flushed down the crapper, so kindly stay the hell out of it. But mark my words, if something isn’t done about that sonofabitch, he will come knocking on your door soon, and when he does, you can spew your self-righteous peacemaking wisdom in his face then and see how far it gets you.”

“And what do you think is gonna happen, Sven? You think you’re just gonna march into that town and right up to Kirkland and give him a piece of your mind, that it?”

“I don’t much care, but I’m going do something, that’s for sure.” Sven said. “This day and age, no one has a right to destroy someone else’s livelihood.”

“No,” I told him. “But that don’t keep them from havin’ the luxury.”

Sven waved a hand at me in disgust. “Just go back to your bench.”

And there were little to say to that, so I just kept quiet and hoped that maybe reason would sink in the closer he got to Milestone’s border.

“Hey, wait,” Dick said.

Sven didn’t.

To my surprise, Dick trotted after him, dust puffin’ up around his legs.

“Where’re
you
goin’?” I asked him.

“Makin’ sure this fool don’t get killed and leave us without someplace to sit come tomorrow mornin’,” he said and followed Sven, who had already gotten into his Volkswagen and were gunnin’ the engine. “And we can’t let him go by himself.”

“You’re both crazy,” I called, feeling a surgin’ panic in my gut at the notion of being left all alone here while my only two friends in the world drove headlong into Hell. “Dick…don’t.”

He raised a hand. “I’ll get him turned around, don’t you worry.”

Like I said, we was always good at readin’ folks, and that meant we could read each other too. As I watched Dick gettin’ into that car, I knew he didn’t believe he’d be able to talk Sven out of anythin’, but unlike me, he weren’t content to just wait it out.

* * *

The guilt grew like the vines.

Even though I didn’t trust the kudzu—which had by that time climbed and coiled its way up under the shades so it were visible through the window behind me like some kind of queer sea creature in a glass tank—not to break through and yank me inside and to my death, I couldn’t move. I just sat on this bench, my back straight, hands on my knees, waitin’ and listenin’ to the vines shift and slither.

Thinkin’.

The sun went down, bruisin’ the sky above the mountains and makin’ the clouds blush. A light breeze rose up, hissin’ softly through the woods to my right, rakin’ the parkin’ lot and sendin’ dust devils dancin’. When I arrived at Sven’s, I’d smelled of cologne, which were cheap but better than the sour stale sweat I reeked of by then.

I’d never felt so lonesome, and so annoyed at myself that I were focusin’ on my own emotions when my friends was probably up to their necks in God only knew what a few miles down the road.

Hours went by, and I kept stiffenin’ at the hum of distant engines, even though I knew Sven’s Volkswagen, and it didn’t sound like any of them.