The Lost Ones (23 page)

Most everything in the house was untouched, the same as he always remembered it. The framed pictures of Elvis and Graceland and cheap oils of rolling farmland and simple white houses. Jason had changed some of that and had added a lot of life to the house and to his mother. Everything felt so still here and safe.

“Mitchum was one handsome man,” Jean said, trying to compose herself. She snuffled and smiled a bit, trying. “Did you know he was sentenced to time on a Georgia chain gang? I think he wasn’t but fourteen or fifteen. He escaped and went to Hollywood.”

Quinn reached for his mother’s hand and squeezed. Jean Colson started to cry and wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. She gave a weak smile and turned back to the television.

“He was good as the drunk sheriff in
El Dorado
.”

“You want some more supper?” Jean asked, picking up the empty plates. “Or another beer?”

“I’m good.”

“So how’s the rest of your day?” Jean asked. “Anything else interesting happen?”

30

DONNIE WENT TO THE TIBBEHAH HIGH SCHOOL BALL GAME ON FRIDAY
night to deliver the gun money to Johnny Stagg. Stagg had told him through Leonard not to even think about dropping by the truck stop unless he wanted a mess of federal agents crawling up his ass. Donnie told Leonard that he preferred not getting his ass crawled and for Stagg to let him know where he wanted to meet. When Leonard called back, Donnie broke out a new pair of Levi’s, his best pair of boots, a white T-shirt, and his old Wildcats letter jacket. He’d been a wide receiver for the Wildcats back in the day, playing ball with Boom and Quinn Colson and a fella named Wesley Ruth. In truth, they weren’t worth a shit, losing as many games as they won. But like they say, you only get better with age, and to hear the class of ’99 tell it, they all could have played D-1 ball if they’d had the grades.

The home bleachers were old and concrete, with narrow steps stretching up to the high seats. The lights shined bright across the crisp green field where Tibbehah and Water Valley were tied up at the half. 7 to 7.

Donnie walked up the far corner of the packed stadium and took a seat by Johnny Stagg. Stagg ate salted peanuts from a paper sack and threw the busted shells at his feet. He wore a bright red sweater and an Ole Miss ball cap, not even acknowledging Donnie as he reached into the sack and grabbed a handful.

“I knew a boy one time who put his pecker in a peanut sack,” Donnie said. “Waited till his little lady got hungry.”

“You got the money?”

“Hell yes, Johnny,” Donnie said. “Jesus Christ. You mind if I stay and watch the third quarter?”

“Water Valley has a colored quarterback who ain’t afraid to run, take some hits,” Stagg said. “He’s one to watch. Heard he already committed to Arkansas. I don’t know why we can’t keep the good blacks in this state.”

Donnie dropped a heavy backpack between him and Stagg. He reached into the sack for a few more peanuts, waiting for the band to clear the field, all of the music an off-tune medley of new country by Keith Urban, Lady Antebellum, Miranda Lambert, and all that assorted bullshit. One of the flag girls wasn’t too bad, her cheeks painted up all rosy, and a tight little ass set off in gold sequins.

“This is the first time I’ve ever known Tibbehah to be undefeated,” Donnie said.

“Won state in ’63,” Stagg said. “Had two players go to Ole Miss. Another fella went to Auburn. We got a senior playing defensive tackle who’s a top prospect. I got his momma a job washing dishes at the truck stop.”

“You goin’ to the game in Oxford?” Donnie asked, not ’cause he gave a shit, but because it was a way of passing the time with Stagg before they talked business. “I know you love the Rebels.”

“I own season tickets,” Stagg said. “We got a hell of a tent in the Grove.”

“Think you might invite me sometime?” Donnie said, cracking a whole peanut shell in his back teeth and spitting out the shells. “Or would I embarrass your high-dollar friends in Oxford?”

“You’re welcome anytime, Donnie,” Stagg said. “Bring your daddy out, too.”

“You know Luther, he don’t take off Saturdays,” Donnie said. “Besides, lots going on right here. You hear about that dead Mex at the Traveler’s Rest?”

Stagg said nothing. The players took the field, stretching out before the kickoff.

“He was of those carnival folks,” Donnie said. “They got some kind of fighting go on with each other. Doesn’t concern us. They got it straight now. I don’t want this spooking you.”

The crowd yelled and clapped as the ball sailed into the air, the players for both teams crashing together, knocking the hell out of each other. A little black kid for the Wildcats ran the ball about two yards before being swarmed by the Water Valley Blue Devils. The folks who’d driven over from Yalobusha County all yelled and screamed from the pissant stands across the way, ringing cowbells and sounding air horns.

“I heard a man on television say there was nothing like football in the South,” Stagg said. “He said it was because Southerners were defeated people and appreciated the idea of going to war every week.”

“Football ain’t war.”

“It’s like war,” Stagg said. “You don’t think those folks from Yalobusha wouldn’t love to come down here to give us a good ass-whipping? This is their clan they sent to show us up. Look at them girls across the way with war paint on their faces.”

“Ain’t the same, Mr. Stagg,” Donnie said.

Stagg chewed on some peanuts, and they watched the game for a while. Donnie thought the Wildcats looked like they had lead in their ass tonight, loafing from play to play. If he’d walked across the field like that, his coach would have chewed him out good.

“We can’t be seen together no more,” Stagg said. “You hear me? Don’t come ’round the truck stop.”

“Leonard told me,” Donnie said. “That’s why I wanted to give this to you personal.”

The Water Valley quarterback tossed the ball to a halfback who put on the afterburner and rammed it down the throats of Tibbehah, getting a first down and then some. Donnie clapped as the back bounced up and started talking some shit to a couple Tibbehah players. The sidelines bulging, both teams ready to bolt onto the field and break out some whoop-ass.

“Feds have been giving Mr. Campo hell these last few weeks,” Stagg said. “A couple ’em come by the Rebel yesterday, asking me about business I have up in Memphis. I don’t think it’s anything for us to worry about. But you can’t be too careful, son.”

“I got an order for one more load,” Donnie said. “Same as before.”

Stagg laughed. He cracked some peanuts and watched the game. Water Valley drove it down the field in three plays, scoring on a twenty-yard pass to the end zone. Those Yalobusha bastards really raising hell now with their cowbells and horns. They finally got quiet after the extra point was kicked, and Stagg leaned over to Donnie’s ear and said, “You got to be shitting me.”

“Promised twenty grand on top of what was paid this time.”

Stagg sucked a tooth, clearing out a lodged peanut.

“Twenty grand?” Stagg asked.

Donnie nodded.

“No.” Stagg shook his head. “Can’t do it.”

“OK.”

“What about the dead Mex?” Stagg asked.

“He ain’t my problem.”

“Anything bother you about this here deal?” Stagg said. “You gonna do business, you need to know who you’re dealing with. What the hell do you know about these damn Mexicans? They’re shooting up their own people. You don’t think they’d shoot us up when they got what they needed? I read on the computer that these people hang their rivals off highway overpasses, messages spray-painted across their dead bodies. I don’t want any more of this.”

“What about Mr. Campo?” Donnie asked. “You speak for him, too?”

“He’s out, too,” Stagg said. “You can ask him if you like.”

“I just might do that,” Donnie said. “Ain’t but ninety miles to Memphis.”

Donnie stood up to leave.

“Appreciate the business,” Stagg said, watching the game but offering his hand. “Come see me when the shitstorm passes.”

Donnie shook it just as Leonard’s fat ass lumbered on up the stairs, sitting on the opposite side of Stagg. He’d brought a couple hot dogs and Cokes.

The Wildcats had the ball now. Donnie had lost track of the game but turned back now as the quarterback scrambled with those Blue Devils over him like flies. He threw a damn turkey up high into the lights, ball dropping right into the hands of a Water Valley defensive back. God damn if he didn’t have some running room, sprinting by everyone and scoring a touchdown.

Donnie shook his head. “Guess this ain’t Tibbehah’s year.”

LUZ CAME TO SEE HIM
a little past midnight, letting herself into Donnie’s Airstream and finding him half asleep, half drunk on the bed, watching a show about rednecks who hunted alligators. He passed her the bottle of Jack, but she put it down on the coffee table, crawling onto the bed and straddling him, kissing him full on the mouth in a real familiar way. Donnie looked up at her from flat on his back and said, “Well, hello there.”

Luz hadn’t said a word since she’d walked inside, a cold wind shifting the old Airstream a bit. The only light in the place came from a strand of chili pepper lights he’d strung above the bed. Luz smiled down at him and pulled off her jeans jacket and kissed him again, this time longer and slower. She lay down next to him, pulling herself in close, where Donnie could hear her breathing.

“I tried to call you,” Donnie said. “You ditch that phone? I thought y’all had left.”

“Everything is a mess.”

“You gonna tell me more about why y’all are shootin’ each other?” Donnie said. “Ain’t nobody gonna do business with folks who kill each other. What the hell?”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Son of a bitch didn’t kill himself,” Donnie said. “What was his name?”

“Vincente.”

“Vincente trip and shoot himself in the head?”

“He was a good man.”

“Apparently not for y’all.”

“Alejandro believed that he was stealing from us, taking guns and money to use against us,” she said. “I don’t know what happened. But Alejandro killed him. He’s a violent man. A
sicario
who’s worked for the narcos since he was a boy. He enjoys the killing and thinks nothing of it.”

“Well, then. I sure am glad you brought him my way.” Donnie shook his head. “So, was he?”

“What?” Luz asked, rolling over on her side, propping up her head with an elbow.

“Did Vincente try and double-cross y’all?”

Luz shook her head. She lay back down, pillow under her head, hand on Donnie’s chest. “They are impatient. These people want the guns and money we have. They want us to return now. But we’re not ready. Not yet.”

Donnie nodded. “So that’s why you’re here,” he said. “You want to know how we’re doing with those guns?”

“It’s not the reason,” she said. “I wanted to see you. You know that.”

Donnie rolled off his back, snatched the bottle back, and planted his feet on the floor. He took another hit of the Jack and turned off the show about the rednecks hunting gators. He hadn’t had dinner and thought about heading back into town for a Sonic burger or maybe seeing if the Fillin’ Station was still open. You could get bacon and eggs damn near anytime.

“How can I call you?” Donnie said. “Your number ain’t good no more.”

“I have another.”

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around Donnie. She snuggled in close, making it seem as if she really felt something, and nuzzled her nose against his ear. She smelled sweet and good.

“Ain’t necessary,” Donnie said. “I’ll get your guns just the same. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

She pulled away and sat down next to him. Her eyes looked very sad and dead as she watched his face. She just shook her head as if she’d grown disappointed in him. Donnie knew that look. A lot of people had tried it out on him his whole damn life.

“You, too?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to tell Alejandro he needs to take some anger management or some shit, because if he keeps killing folks here in Tibbehah, he’s gone get arrested,” Donnie said. “Our gun supplier don’t want to work with me no more ’cause of all this shit. I don’t know how you do it in Mexico, but you can’t just start killing folks you don’t like in the USA. Our police will investigate. Did you know you got federal agents looking for you all?
Federales?
You know?”

“You can’t get the guns?”

“What it all boils down to,” Donnie said. “Don’t it, sister?”

She reached out and grabbed his hand and looked long and hard at his face. Her eyes were so damn big and brown, and Donnie wanted to believe her if she said the world was flat and gumdrops fell from the sky. He looked away and drank some more. He got up and hunted up a T-shirt to cover his scars.

“Is that what you think?” she asked. “That I am with you only for the guns? You were paid. I am not part of that.”

“All right. All right. You want some more whiskey?”

She tilted her head, making some kind of decision. She stood and touched his face and ran her hand long against his naked back, feeling for the contours of the scars. She held his hand and ran it up under her shirt and across her rib cage, where she had her own thick scars. She moved his fingers back and forth across them.

“How’d you get that?” he asked.

“I lied to someone once.”

“Your boyfriend cut you?”

She let Donnie’s hand drop and held it in hers, snatching his other with her opposite. The cold wind buffeted around the trailer, Donnie having had enough Jack Daniel’s to remember being on the flip side of this earth and having to clean out the sand from his boots and ears every time the wind blew. Sand getting goddamn everywhere again as soon as you finished.

“You want to stay the night or something?” he asked.

Luz nodded. Damn, Donnie had never realized how lonely this trailer could be. She pulled his hand and made him find the flat of her back. Donnie wanted to pull her so damn close but stopped himself and asked the question that had made him drink half that bottle in half an hour: “What are y’all doing with those kids?”