Bottom Feeder (41 page)

“
You think I’m weak.” It’s
not a question. “You think I’m a pushover for allowing this to go
on for so long.”

“
I used to think so.”
Knowing what Maddy has gone through, the battles she has fought and
survived throughout the years, would never again allow me to view
her as nothing more than stronger than me. Than anyone I
know.

Dixon was right when he said she is
made of something stronger than the rest of us.

Unfazed by my answer, Maddy nods. “I
don’t feel hatred or anger toward those who hurt me. Maybe I’m not
wired that way. I tried to be angry with Mama for taking the easy
way out. It wasn’t the cheating that got to her, it was everything
else. She knew the things Cordell did for a living. She thought, by
committing suicide, Savannah would finally know about the real
Cordell Carrington. She could’ve never guessed just how far his
money would go. After she was gone, no one else noticed the changes
in him. Always sad, always confused. I loved him as best as I
could, because loving him is what I was supposed to do. I thought
that one day he would see what Larry was doing and help. Instead,
he looked at me and hated me more and more each day.”

“
He showed me the letter,”
I say quietly.

“
I’d like to
know.”

The words from have lingered since the
day I read the small, elegant handwriting of a woman whose life
meant so little to herself because a controlling asshole like
Cordell beat down her esteem all those years. So she decided it was
better to end everything than keep going. The story Cordell told me
doesn’t make sense, but I recite the letter for Maddy
anyway.

“
It said, ‘The lies come
so easily that I am in a constant state of shame, draped in jewels
of deception. Underneath it all I am clothed in the grace God has
given me. The pursuit to buy my silence was not done in vain, as
you will never hear from me again after today.’”

“
She knew,” Maddy nods as
if this is a confirmation. “She knew about CC. She knew he killed
CC’s husband, her father, and my father.”

I stand to pace the floor, stopping at
the windows to observe the raging city below. Thinking about this
shit storm. Wondering if I should pray to a God I’m not sure I
believe in.

“
Do you think I’m good for
Dom?”

Observing the city through the
floor-to-ceiling windows makes everything seem as if I am watching
a movie. Or like I am intruding on those people’s lives. A sense of
emptiness washes over me. Without taking my eyes off the constant
movements below, I answer truthfully, “He loves you.” After today,
I’m damn sure of that.

“
That’s not an answer,”
she replies. “I don’t understand how . . . you know what, it’s
okay. Never mind.”

I turn to her. “I
understand.”

I’m not exactly sure why I understand,
but I do. Confused? Me, too. I’ve been nothing but confused since
this girl walked into my life. I hate it. But I don’t hate it. I
might like it. But I don’t know why I like it.

Maddy furrows her brow but doesn’t
press the issue.

Beraz returns with dinner, including a
large box of fried okra for Maddy. We eat in comfortable silence
and, oddly enough, watch old UFC fights.

“
I can’t believe you like
this stuff,” I say to Maddy.

“
Oh, I don’t watch for
entertainment, Jackson,” she says sleepily, her head resting on
Beraz’s lap and her hand inside the okra box. “I watch to
learn.”

The next morning, a couple of workers
from the donation center arrive to take half the apartment to their
distribution facility. Fear and disgust cross their faces when they
glimpse Maddy’s bruised and swollen features.

The men glance to Beraz. Then me.
Beraz. Me. Like a tennis match.

I tense. Beraz tenses. They are
accusing us without saying a word.

“
What the fu—“ Beraz says
at the same time I say “Look here, you fu—“

Maddy puts an end to the stare down.
“I was mugged.”

The workers seem to accept the answer
to their unspoken question and begin moving out the furniture. When
they load the last bundle into their truck, Maddy gathers boxes of
kitchen items, clothing, and books to pack in the
Beemer.

“
Where are we?” I ask as
we pull up to a rundown apartment building.

“
Cecilia lives here. I
promised her mom this stuff.” Maddy sighs. “I can’t let her see me
like this. Can you two take this up while I circle the block? Her
mom said not to leave the car sitting for too long.”

The dilapidated structure seems just a
few boards shy of an actual building. Thankfully we make it up the
fourth flight of stairs without falling through the floor. A pretty
Hispanic girl, around five or six, answers the door cautiously. Her
big brown eyes brighten at the sight of Beraz.

“
Dominic!” she beams. “Ma!
Ma, it’s Maddy’s friend!” She turns to me. “Who are
you?”

“
Jackson,” I answer,
squatting down to eye level. “I’m a friend of Maddy’s.”

“
Does she kiss you, too?”
She asks with concern on her small face.

Beraz laughs at the absurdity of her
question. I mask my grimace with a cough.

Cecilia’s mother enters the living
room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Beraz greets her like
they are old friends. She nods to me in greeting and pulls an
envelope from behind a picture.

“
For Maddy,” she says,
handing the envelope to Beraz. “From the Suit.”

I turn to Beraz, whose eyebrows are
raised so high they almost touch his hairline. Cecilia’s mom shrugs
and thanks us for bringing the boxes.

“
You can start writing
letters in reception,” I remind Maddy for the fifth time. I write
my address in a book the kids from the youth center gave her. “If
you write with what phase and week you’re in, I’ll write back to
give you a heads-up on what to expect.”

“
You writing other guys?”
Beraz asks playfully. He wraps his arms protectively around her.
“I’m not sure if I like that.”

“
You have
got
to be kidding me
with this macho BS.” Maddy rolls her eyes. “Boys.”

“
Beraz is obviously the
boy in this scenario.”

“
Kiss my ass,
Monroe.”

“
See what I mean? Boys!”
Maddy laughs. “Tell you what. Jackson covers the army stuff. Dixon
will cover the best friend stuff. And you, Dom, can cover the mushy
boyfriend stuff. Extra corny, please.”

“
I can do mushy,” Beraz
says and kisses the top of her head.

“
I can do army stuff.”
Could I ever do mushy boyfriend stuff? Probably not.
Maybe.

Beraz and I plan to leave at noon for
the ten hour drive back to North Carolina. I tell him to text me
when he finishes saying goodbye. I don’t want to witness whatever
they might be doing to, er, say goodbye. Which, really, I don’t
think is anything past a PG rating. But still.

I walk to Milk and Sugar and talk to
Maddy’s former manager, Peggy. I remain there until the lunch rush
arrives and she threatens to put me to work. I walk back to the
apartment building, where I make small talk with James. News on the
doorman front is Sonny quit his job to handle a family emergency in
the Midwest somewhere. Who knows if that’s far enough away from
Cordell’s reach.

With nothing else to do, I sit in the
BMW, waiting. The car doesn’t have the same feel as it did the
first time I drove it with Maddy in the passenger seat. Something
doesn’t feel right, like part of the car is missing. I decide to
ask Beraz to drive.

When he finally enters the garage, he
moves as if someone removed a vital organ from his body.

A little over an hour later, we take a
very long detour into Trenton, New Jersey where Beraz takes the
laptop into a pawn shop. Three hours later, I walk into a pawn shop
in Capitol Heights, Maryland. The man behind the counter writes a
ticket for Maddy’s tablet. Beraz stops for lunch at a soul food
restaurant up the street. I flush the ticket from the pawn shop
down the toilet.

Another two hours and 37 minutes
later, Beraz drives into a small community tucked inside Prince
George County, Virginia.

“
This is horror movie
shit,” Beraz says, taking in our surroundings.

“
This car is too
noticeable here.”

Every quarter-mile is
dotted with a small farmhouse. Each yard has a staked sign that
reads
JESUS SAVES.
A single whitewashed fence connects the houses together. A
large, tanned-brick church stands proudly in the center of
everything. It is the only building without the whitewashed fence.
Instead, it is surrounded on three sides by a cemetery. Every empty
spot of land is dotted with fields of cotton, peanuts, and
tobacco.

“
Do you think all this
belongs to one family?” I ask Beraz.

He shrugs, looking as uneasy as I
feel. “This town creeps me the hell out.”

I glance over to Beraz,
with his black
Misery Loves My
Company
t-shirt, ripped jeans, Adidas
Superstars and tattoos inked like accessories to match his
ensemble. I look at my white t-shirt, ripped jeans, and beat up
Chuck Taylors.

“
Beraz, we look like we’re
about to bring sin to this community.”

“
I think this community is
full of sin already,” he says glumly.

Silence floats through the open
windows. Even the birds are too bored to chirp out a
song.

Beraz makes a left on a gravel road.
More signs are tacked to the trees.

POSTED: NO
TRESSPASSING

GOD LOVES YOU

TRESSPASSERS WILL BE SHOT,
SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN

JESUS IS WELCOME HERE, YOU
ARE NOT

“
We’re going to die,”
Beraz says.

“
Stop being a drama
queen,” I reply, though I feel the same.

The gravel road abruptly comes to an
end at a large farmhouse, surrounded by a wood post, no-climb
fence. A few feet inside the no-climb fence is another, more
decorative whitewashed fence that mimics the others in
town.

“
Those are hot wires on
top,” Beraz points out.

“
I think all of the layers
are hot wires.”

An old Chevy pickup approaches the
inside fence. A man, about sixty years old steps out. He is dressed
in overalls, a plaid shirt, and tan work boots. Strands of gray
stick out from beneath his green John Deere cap. He unlocks both
fences and waves Beraz through.

“
Follow me,” he says when
Beraz pulls next to him.

We follow the man down a trail, to a
clearing in the center of a patch of woods behind his home. He
motions for us to get out of the car. We do.
Reluctantly.

“
Get your things outta
there,” the man says. We grab our bags and strap them to our
backs.

Another man we didn’t see before exits
the truck. He looks to be about our age.

“
Clear it,
Ezra.”

Ezra sits in the driver’s seat of the
Beemer and pulls out a device that is smaller than a tablet, but
larger than a cell phone. Whatever it is, it doesn’t look like it
belongs in this sleepy town. He turns the car on, taps the screen
on the Beemer’s navigation system and works quickly until the
screen goes blank. He taps on the device’s screen a few times and
the car suddenly cuts off.

Ezra exits the car and begins walking
towards the farmhouse.

“
Take the truck,” the man
says to me. “Drive the speed limit the rest of the way. Don’t draw
any extra attention. Don’t stop unless you need gas. When you get
to where you’re going, park it somewhere it won’t be noticed for a
few days. Like a big box or grocery store. Wipe the inside and
outside of the truck down and take the license plate off before you
leave it. Toss the plate in the trash somewhere and forget where I
live. Understand?”

“
Yes, sir,” Beraz and I
reply at the same time.

“
My wife made y’all some
food for your trip. It’s on the seat.”

“
Thank you, sir,” Beraz
and I reply at the same time.

The man pulls a few containers of
liquid out of the back and begins pouring it on and around the
Beemer. It doesn’t smell like gas, but I can’t pinpoint what it
is.

“
You boys might oughta get
on down the road. Ezra’ll close the gates behind you.”

Weirdest. Day. Ever.

Just a few miles outside of
Smithfield, North Carolina my cell phone beeps with a text
message.

I glance down at the screen, but since
I’m driving I pass the phone to Beraz.

“
Who is that?” I
ask.

“
It’s just a number,” he
says. “No name.”

“
What’s it
say?”

“
Oh, no,” he
says.

“
What’s wrong? Is there
something wrong with Maddy?”