A Place Called Wiregrass (26 page)

I thought of the time LaRue and Suzette left Cher behind in the drug house. They ran to Las Vegas. “He may not be there, though,” I said. The very words felt like they were coming from somebody else.

“If you ask me, it’s as good a place to start as any. He’ll have to change out that van or get caught sure enough. I imagine he’s got a set of old boys in Shreveport who’ll help him out.”

“Gerald’s right. Time is the advantage right now. He’s easier to catch before he slips off again,” Richard said.

I tried to stand upright and not let the situation overtake me, but my shoulders slumped at the very thought of not seeing Cher until she matured and realized what a mess she made. “I know, but I just can’t run off to Shreveport.”

“You can and you will,” Miss Claudia said. “I’ll give you an advance to cover the gas and motel.”

“If we go ahead and leave, we could make it by dawn,” Gerald said.

I studied him carefully. “We? Oh, no. I won’t have you taking off…”

“Hey,” he said with a point of his finger. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m going. Period.”

Before Richard and Miss Claudia left, at her request we gathered in a circle to pray. Miss Claudia led the prayer and asked for my comfort and Cher’s safe return.

I felt paralyzed by the whole situation and distant from God. Like the pictures in my mind of Cher mangled and torn on the side of a road, I kept pushing away the question of why God would let LaRue take Cher, fearing that if I allowed myself to ask such a question I would surely never see her again. To distract my mind, I lifted my head and looked at the three people gathered around me. Miss Claudia held her head upright, and her red lips moved with words of mercy and deliverance. Gerald and Richard obediently had their heads tucked down.

Miss Claudia made out a check, squeezed me tight, and stood at my door waiting for Richard to make it down the steps first. “Let me hear from you, now.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “I’ll be wrestling for you and Cher in prayer.”

The prayer chain did not end with Miss Claudia. While we were driving down the highway, Gerald got on his truck phone and sought prayers from Pastor Lee, A.J., and Brownie—and, of course, Marcie. I didn’t mind any of the rest of my church members knowing about the situation, but I figured Marcie would just gloat over it.
“Now Daddy, should you be this involved?”
I imagined her asking on the other end of the phone.

And I could tell by the way he said “yeah” and then cut his eyes over at me that that was exactly the type of questions he was getting.

If it hadn’t been for Marcie’s job at the sheriff’s department, I admit I would’ve been in a worse fix. Her computer matched LaRue’s phone number with an address. If it hadn’t been for that piece of help, I would’ve demanded that Gerald not call her.

I looked out the truck window and watched the neon roadside lights flash by me.
“I liked to got fired using the computer system for that address,”
I imagined Marcie saying the next time I saw her.
The humble shall inherit the earth,
I reminded myself and quickly wrote down LaRue’s address on the back of a crumpled gas receipt.

Since we left so late, I tried to sleep on the way to Jackson. As my head bobbed with each worn-out spot on the interstate, I thought of Cher and how I had slapped her. Other than a few spankings when she was little, it was the first time I hit her. I retraced the steps that brought me to the end road I faced. If only I could go back and keep my cool. If only LaRue would have just left us alone.
This was all his fault
. The anger that fueled me was greater than my natural need for sleep.

In Jackson, we stopped at Shoney’s and traded seats. I hadn’t been under the steering wheel more than ten minutes when Gerald’s whistling snores began. He filled the passenger seat with his arms folded and cap’s brim pulled low over his forehead.

Behind the wheel, I fantasized about making a speech at LaRue’s hearing for kidnapping Cher. Even if she went voluntarily, I decided I could get him on kidnapping because she was in my custody. That young lawyer of Miss Claudia’s could figure out a way to make it happen. “Legal loophole” I’ve heard it called on the news.

During my testimony, a history of his destruction of my family would be offered. I would borrow one of Miss Claudia’s hats so I would look sophisticated. Sorta like Alexis used to wear on
Dynasty
. While tractor trailers and cars passed by me, I chose my words carefully. After my comments, I would stop in front of LaRue and stare so long he would look down at the floor. Compelled by my testimony, the jury would sentence him to either life in prison or the death penalty. Since I
had not made my mind up on whether any person other than LaRue should get killed through the justice system, I left the option open.

A chill ran over me, and I cut the air conditioning down. My strength was beaten back down when the thought of how I wanted to stand up and defend Miss Claudia’s rescue home during the church service crossed my mind.
Who do you think you are?
the darkness asked.
You couldn’t even stand up in a church, much less a court of law.
And suddenly the pride of securing LaRue’s torment was sucked into the air-conditioning vent and landed flat on the asphalt where it was promptly pounded by Gerald’s tires.

When we arrived in Shreveport, the downtown casino lights were just beginning to fade against the rising sun. I steered Gerald’s truck while he offered directions. Little Haven Apartments were located in the Red River section of town. Judging by the torn window screens scattered across the patchy-grassed lawn, the apartment complex was just LaRue’s style. Nervous energy, which had been building in my chest, faded when I failed to spot his white van in the concrete parking lot.

“Hadn’t seen him in two weeks,” the man behind the counter said. His words fought with the roar from the window-unit fan. If his hair had been longer, he could’ve passed as Santa Claus, maybe even fatter. “He left here with checks bouncing ever which a way. He burned you too, eh?”

“He owes me,” I said.

“He had one of those girlie-show girls piled in there with him. She told me she was staying down at the Decadence Inn but got kicked out.” He paused to chew the end of his pen.

“She’s not bad-looking neither.”

“You remember her name?” Gerald asked.

“Starts with a M, maybe. Anyway she works down at the Pink Palace. Smack next to that place I told you about. Decadence Inn.”

I used the pay phone next to the apartment building to call the Shreveport police station. Two different people told me that they didn’t know anything about an APB for LaRue. I provided his name and a description of the van. “Please, please, send it out to your people,” I begged the second sergeant I spoke to.

“What’s he wanted for?”

“Umm, kidnapping.”

“You the mama?”

“Grandmama. Yes. I got custody of her.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. We’ll get the notice out for you.”

The phone line went dead. I lifted my foot and finished crushing a piece of broken Budweiser bottle on the sidewalk.

“These people just don’t get it,” I told Gerald and slammed the phone down.

After spending the day driving around and around the Red River district, I decided that I must now know every fleabag motel clerk by name. The feeling of defeat settled deeper when we passed the Pink Palace. It was all lit up with white and yellow marquee lights. The image of Cher dancing around on tables for drunk men forced me to close my eyes and grit my teeth. The stinging that comes from lack of sleep rested behind my sockets.

The motel room had two double beds, and if the bed had been made of feathers, I don’t think I would have slept any better. While Gerald called home to check on Donnie, I brushed my teeth. Any nervousness I felt about sleeping in a motel room with Gerald was washed away from the hours riding in the close compound of his truck. Before he could
get out of the bathroom, I was sleeping, fully dressed, on the multicolored bedspread.

I awoke the next morning with a beige blanket placed over me. Gerald opened the door with two paper cups of coffee and a bag of doughnuts. I jumped up thinking of the wasted time I was spending lying in bed. Time given to LaRue’s advantage, so he could run off with Cher forever.

“Settle down. It’s only six-thirty,” Gerald said and placed the green-and-white paper bag on the table.

Recalling the old saying that if you tell your husband your dreams before breakfast they come true, I ate my doughnut in silence, while Gerald held the map of Shreveport and outlined our search. Even though he was not my husband, he was the closest thing to a boyfriend I ever had, and I was not going to risk it by letting him know all the nightmares I had about Cher’s whereabouts.

The Pink Palace lived up to its name. It was a stucco building painted a pink so bright it hurt my eyes when I saw it at the corner red light.

“This place looks rough,” Gerald said outside the building.

“Maybe you need to stay in the truck.”

I looked at the top of the tinted-black glass door and saw two dead mosquito hawks hanging from a spider web. Secrets had gotten me to the point where I was. Now I had to lay it on the line for Gerald as well. “I’ve been in worse, I can assure you,” I said.

Indeed, the darkness of the open room and the smell of stale cigarette smoke was similar to the places I had pulled Bozo out of during our thirty-plus years of marital bliss. Only difference was, this place had a small stage surrounded by mirrors. A crystal ball, like the one at the skating rink, hung from
the ceiling. My eyes were adjusting from sunlight to blackness when I saw the outline of a skinny man carrying a brown box.

“We closed,” the man said and placed the case on the bar. He looked about sixty, and his forehead was made high thanks to a sharp widow’s peak at his hairline. His black hair was slicked back with some type of greasy substance.

Gerald moved forward, and I followed behind him. “Hey. How you doing?”

The man pulled out a pocketknife and slit open the case. He looked up with his brow wrinkled and his mouth partly open. “All right. But we’re still closed.”

I folded my arms and wondered if Gerald was tough enough to handle the situation I had put him in. While anybody could look at him and know his massive size would intimidate a skinny man like the thing that stood before me, Gerald lacked the harsh tongue that I imagined the skinny man had picked up from hard living.

“We ain’t here for that.” Gerald pulled the photo I found in the dirt at the skating rink from his shirt pocket. Gerald laid the faded photo on the bar. “You know this feller? Some of his people’s needing him.”

The man continued opening the case of Wild Turkey and squinted his eyes down at the photograph. “Man, do you know how many people walk through them doors?” The man grinned and shook his head.

“One of the dancers here lived with him,” I said behind Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald half turned and looked at me.

The man sighed, dropped his knife on the bar, and picked up the photograph.

“He’s got short hair now,” I said. The man wrinkled his brow again.

“Oh, yeah,” the man grunted in a way that made me think he wanted to laugh. “Sweet Magnolia. We put her down the
road. She’s always picking up one stray or another here. Just got in the way of business.” The man pulled bottles of brown liquid from the case.

“You know where we can find her?” Gerald asked.

The man stopped and put his pocketknife back in his jeans pocket. “I ain’t her daddy.”

I stepped forward. “We don’t want trouble with her. I just need to find LaRue. You know the man in the picture. It’s about my grand…”

“Lady, I ain’t getting in the middle of whatever mess you got.”

Gerald put his thumbs on the waist of his jeans. “We just need to see if that dancer knows where this other feller is. Now if she quit, it looks to me like you’d have some address on her for tax stuff.”

“That’s it. Now go on and get out of here.” The man waved his arms at us like he was shooing cattle.

When I turned to go, a loud thud and cussing rang behind me. The skinny man’s head was mashed down on the bar, and his arms were twisted behind him. Gerald straddled the man from behind and jerked the man’s arms. “You reckon you can remember that address now?” Gerald said through gritted teeth.

We left the darkness of the Pink Palace with the address of Magnolia’s sister, written on a white cocktail napkin. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I wrinkled my brow and glanced at Gerald. I worried he’d erupt again if I looked at him too long.

We rode in his truck three blocks before he said a word. “Don’t forget to buckle up,” he said and smiled at me. I put the seat belt on and felt his hand on my leg. “Be looking for that street on your right,” he said and gently patted my leg.

Leaving the dancer’s sister’s home, I felt as low as any human could. The young girl stood in the paint-chipped doorway holding a baby dressed in diapers. A torn brown re
cliner sat on the front porch. Its yellow stuffing dangled at the edge of the rip. The girl couldn’t have been a day older than twenty-one and bit her lip when we asked about her sister.

“Is she dead?” she asked and blew up at the wisps of black bangs that fell in her eyes. She had never seen LaRue before, but by the way she described her sister, she was definitely his type. She told us how her sister had been strung out on heroin for the past two years. How she always had boyfriends who furnished fresh supplies.

Thinking I might not be able to stand, I put my hand on the flakes of white paint peeling from her door frame. “Do you know where she’s at?” I asked. A stream of drool dropped from the baby’s bottom lip.

“Only place I know to tell you is that old motel next to Pink Palace. I heard they been selling out near the old fairgrounds too. She probably hates my guts. But you know, I got kids in the house and everything. I can’t be having that kind of stuff going on.”

Gerald cranked the truck and, before he pulled away, I turned to get one last look at the house. Not really a house, but a shack that looked like spots of snow had stuck to the brown wood. “I’m so sorry to drag you into this,” I said, never looking at Gerald and not really hearing his words of encouragement. No matter what he said, I felt I had dirtied his soul by introducing him to a way of living so foreign to his own.
Maybe lies weren’t so bad after all.
We continued to romp through the Red River section of Shreveport, searching for a beat-up white van.