Down 'N' Derby (4 page)

             
“Son, you can find him six feet below at the Methodist cemetery.  I’m sorry.”

             
“I’m sorry to hear that.  Do you—do you know if he ever visited Louisiana?” She looked to the rotting porch before continuing, “Einer was in prison most of his life, committed armed robbery when he was two days over the age of eighteen.  He had been paroled three years ago and then got into some trouble again with the law.  He resisted arrest, held up a gun to a police officer and was shot.  He never left this city.”

             
A tear came to her eye as she told the story.  She lifted the hem of her starched apron and wiped it away.  This wasn’t my father. 
Of course it wouldn’t be this easy, Mad, it’s you we’re talking about.
 

             
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have bothered you.  Thank you for your time.” I did some kind of bow thing and walked away. 

             
“Young man?” She called out behind me.

             
I turned to answer her, “Yes ma’am?”

             
“You’ll find what you’re looking for.  But anything worth finding isn’t gonna come out and get you.  You’re gonna have to work for it.” She cackled a bit before continuing, “That goes for women too.”

             
I nodded at her and continued on my way.  And I was a pompous ass for saying this but I didn’t have trouble with girls.  It wasn’t the searching for one that was the problem.  Honestly, they kinda came at me like a damned magnet.  The problem with me was that all of them, tall, short, thin, curvy, smart, dumb, bimbos and virgins—they all made my skin crawl—and wasn’t that just peachy.

             
“I’m guessing no dice?” Nixon probed as I got back in the SUV.

             
“Nope, this Einer was a fan of orange jumpsuits and Omaha only.”

             
“Where to next?” He pulled out a map and readied himself.

             
“Colorado Springs,” I said and he didn’t groan this time.  It took me off guard.

             
“What’s in Colorado Springs,” I asked him.

             
“How would I know?” He asked and looked out the window.

             
“Spill it, Nixon.” I pressed and it made him sigh.

             
“Ok, but you have to keep your big mouth shut.” He got a little louder with the word ‘shut’.

             
“Yeah, because I want you running your ass all over town telling everyone about my twitchy shit.”

             
“Ugh—fine.  There’s this cool metal sculpture display, all made by this one man on a huge expanse of land.  It’s supposed to be amazing.  Mom nearly came unglued when I told her I wanted to be a sculptor and go to art school.  You may not be the only one running from family here.”

             
I snapped back at him, “I’m not running.  I’m finding my dad.  And that’s cool, artsy guys get hot chicks,” I joked.

             
“Yeah that’s it, and that’s why we’re going,” he leaned over to look at the speedometer, “Eighty miles an hour, ‘cause you’re not running, no way.”

             
“Shut up, and nice change of subject by the way” but I heeded his warning and slowed down anyway.

             
We both quieted down and soon Nixon was asleep, head propped awkwardly against his fist propped up on the armrest.  My mind started to drift.

             
“Momma, who named me Maddox Fitzgerald?  Was it you or was it my other momma?” I whispered in the morning before the light had broken in the sky.  Mom and I always got up super early and made breakfast together while the others slept.  Looking back, I wondered if this was her way of making me feel special.  I had asked her this question hundreds of times but she never grew tired of answering it.  “Mad, Sela and I picked out the name Maddox together.  It’s a strong name for a strong boy.  Fitzgerald was the name of your grandfather, Sela’s and my father.  They called him Fitz.”

             
“Owen says it’s because I’m weird like the Mad Hatter.” I would always whine, stomping my foot wearing cartoon character pajamas.

             
“What have I told you about that Mad?” This was always the point where she would prop her fists up on her hips.

             
“When Owen says something mean I should ask Falcon, if it really hurts my feelings.”

             
“Why?” She pressed.

             
“Because Falcon doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”  I wouldn’t understand how true that was until much later—but truth it was.  She would squat down and get to my eye level and hold on to my forearms as she drove her point home. 

             
“If you ever need to know the right thing to do, ask Falcon.  He won’t ever steer you wrong.”

             
“What about Owen?” I would always ask her.

             
“Owen acts before he thinks.  It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes it gets him in trouble.  Falcon is your rock, don’t ever forget that.”

             
I should’ve told him.  I should’ve confided in Falcon.  He wouldn’t have steered me wrong.  I should’ve trusted my brother, but it was too late now.

             
The sign which read ‘Welcome to Kansas’ brought me out of my memories along with my stomach growling.  We had been on the road for about five hours and had decided to take the Southern route through Kansas since Nixon wanted to cover as many states as possible.  We stopped in a town called Taylorville and I woke Nixon up when I parked.

             
“Are you hungry?” I asked him as he stretched.

             
“Are swamp rats ugly?” He quipped.

             
I pointed in front of us instead of retaliating and his mouth dropped open.  He got out of the car and practically ran to the door of the restaurant.  I don’t know how I managed to find a Creole restaurant smack dab in middle America but I had.  Nixon got on his knees in front of the door and thanked Jesus like he was in front of the pulpit.  An older couple came out and he pretended to weep and asked the older woman for a tissue.  She shook her head and kept walking. 

             
I jerked him up by his sleeve and we walked in.  Inside floor to ceiling were crawfish nets, Spanish moss, and Zydeco music playing from the speakers. 

             
“Well slap my ass and call me Shirley,” Nixon said as he gazed in wonder at the Cajun collage before us.

             
The waiter showed us to a booth and didn’t flinch a bit when Nixon ordered three sweet teas.  We both got gumbo and bananas foster cheesecake for dessert.  Nixon sat back, fat and happy, rubbing his belly like an old man.

             
“You’re no fun anymore.” He said as he paid the ticket.

             
“What? I’m fun.”

             
“No, you’re not.  Can’t we just enjoy the road trip and in between the Daddy stops?”

             
“Ok, ok, Mad the clown, reporting for duty.”  I made my point by blowing a straw paper in his face.

             
He stood in the booth and proclaimed, “He’s back ladies and gentleman, finally he’s back!”

             
“Shut up and sit down you moron.” I laughed at him while the whole restaurant clapped at the anonymous news.

             
“Now,” he pointed at me, pleased with himself, “Now we can have a road trip.”

Chapter 9

Reed

I put my wedding dress on sometimes when I knew Falcon wouldn’t come home for a while.

             
I laid in bed during the early hours of the morning, reading Pride and Prejudice—again.  I hadn’t heard from Mad or Nixon in three days.  It worried me.  They never called to tell me how the Omaha search panned out.  I wanted to text Nixon but was afraid it would tip off Maddox. 

             
And this waiting until marriage thing was starting to suck—hard.

             
Every day now, not only did I have to control myself but I now had to stop Falcon from seeing the tattoo on my rib cage which meant restricted hand roaming.  He didn’t say anything about it and never would but I could tell he was as irked as I was.  Last night he stayed at his apartment which was the first time in months.  I tried not to take it personally.  Everyone needs their space sometimes.  But I knew it was more than that.  I had been distant lately, constant worry reeling through my head and he knew it.  There was an invisible but very real wall between us but I needed to stay here on my side of the wall until I found out where Mad’s father was.  And that was the plan on my part.  As soon as Nixon let me know Mad had for sure found his father, I would let Falcon and Owen know where he was.  Because once he found him, he would need Falcon’s head and maybe Owen’s brawn to get him through it in one piece, whether he admitted it or not. 

             
My phone vibrated, alerting me to a text message.

             
Falcon: Don’t know what’s going on.

             
Reed: I’ve got some things on the brain.  Not ready to talk yet.

             
Falcon:  Let me know the minute you’re ready?

             
Reed: Of course.

             
Falcon: I got you and Nellie a present.

             
Reed: What is it?

             
Falcon: Bringing them over now.

             
Reed: Them?

             
Falcon: Yes.

              I got up and got dressed. I wracked my brain for what he could purchase that he would also refer to as them while I waited.  Nellie got to the house first and just belted through the front door.

             
“I’m glad I’m not naked Nellie, jeez.”

             
“I am not tryin’ to look at your booty Reed.  Anyway, after y’all are married I’ll stop barging in—maybe.”

             
“Thanks for that,” I said and got her hot pink zebra print coffee cup down from the cabinet.  She took it and filled her cup and added enough sugar and cream for a village.

             
“Did he tell you what he bought,” I asked her.

             
She looked at me like I was a rotten egg, “Who?”

             
“Didn’t Falcon call you and tell you to come over here?” I inquired.

             
“No, I just wanted to see your mug.” She pointed to the coffee cup and then to my face. “Get it, mug? Anyway why am I supposed to come over here?”

             
I rolled my eyes at her joke, “He bought us something.”

             
“Oh, I love Falcon presents.” She grinned ear to ear.

             
“Not nearly as much as I do,” I sang back to her.

             
The door opened and in came Falcon carrying two huge crate like cages.  One was pink with black polka dots and one was bright orange. He set them both on the ground and went back outside without a word.  He came back with bags and bags from the local pet store. Nellie crouched behind me and whispered, “I see pet care products.  I’m scared.” 

             
“No shit—I swear if he brings a rat in this house, his ass is grass and I’m the lawn mower.” She and I backed up in a synchronized motion.

             
“No, no, no, he knows how we feel about rodents.  There’s no way.”

             
Just then Falcon came back in holding two identical cardboard boxes with handles at the top where the sides met.

             
“Oh my God, he got us fried chicken.” Nellie screamed and I snorted—they did look like fried chicken boxes.

             
Falcon laughed and beckoned us towards him with a wave of the hand.

             
“Oh hell no, I’m not coming near you until you tell us what’s in the chicken boxes.  You can forget it.”  I knew he wouldn’t bring us rats or hamsters so I wanted to go see but Nellie had a death grip on my arms.

             
“It’s two boys that want to see you.” He smiled.

             
I walked over first and Nellie ran to hide behind the kitchen counter.  I peeked inside the box marked ‘Poppy’ and absolutely melted.  Inside the box was a tiny brown and white hedgehog, curled up in a ball.  

             
“Can I hold it? Is it gonna prick me?” I asked.

             
“Nah,” he said and lifted it out of the box and handed it to me.  He whispered in my ear, “This is Oak. He was the cutest one.  But don’t tell Nellie.”