Carnal Innocence (22 page)

Humming “California, Here I Come,” he veered off the hardpack to cross the edge of Toby March’s east field. He wondered if Jim would be over at Miss Waverly’s painting, and if he’d have time to scoot by and say hey.

He crossed Little Hope stream, which was hardly more than a piss trickle at this time of year, and followed it down to the culvert.

He remembered how he and Jim had scrawled their names on the rounded concrete in Crayolas. And how, in more recent times, they’d pored over every page of a
Playboy
magazine Cy had swiped from under his brother A.J.’s mattress.

Those pictures had been something, he remembered. And for Cy, who had never seen a naked female, it had been an awe-inspiring experience. His pecker had gotten hard as a rock. And that night the old tool of Satan had cut loose in his first and fascinating wet dream.

And hadn’t his mama been surprised when he’d done the laundry for her?

Grinning a little over the memory—and wondering if he’d have the experience again anytime soon—he slid down the gentle bank of Little Hope and headed into the culvert.

A hand slapped over his mouth, cutting off his cheerful whistle. He didn’t try to scream or struggle. He knew that hand, the shape, the texture, even the smell of it. His fear was much too deep, much too hopeless for screams.

“I found your little hole,” Austin whispered. “Your den of sin with your filthy book and your nigger writing. You boys come down here to jerk each other off?”

Cy could only shake his head. He grunted when Austin shoved him against the hard, rounded wall of the culvert. He expected the belt to flash, but even as he braced, he saw his father wasn’t wearing one.

They take away your belt when they put you in jail, he remembered. Take it away so you can’t hang yourself.

He swallowed. His father was crouched over because the culvert was too low to allow him to rise to his full height. But the position didn’t diminish him. If anything, it made him seem larger, stronger. With his back rounded, his legs bent and spread, his face and hands blackened with dirt, he looked like something horrible waiting to pounce.

Cy swallowed again, his throat clicking. “They’re looking for you, Daddy.”

“I know they’re looking for me. They ain’t found me, have they?”

“No, sir.”

“You know why, boy? It’s because I got God on my side. Those Christless bastards’ll never find me. What we got here’s a holy war.” He smiled, and Cy felt ice flow into his belly. “They put me in jail, and they left that murdering son of a whore free. She was a whore. Whore of Babylon,” he said softly. “Selling herself when she was mine.”

Cy didn’t know what he was talking about, but nodded. “Yes sir.”

“They’ll be punished. ‘They shall bear the punishment of their iniquity.’” His hands began to clench and unclench slowly. “All of them. Down to the last generation.” His eyes cleared and focused on Cy again. “Where’d you get that bike, boy?”

He started to claim it was Jim’s, but with his father’s
eyes on him, feared the lie might burn his tongue off. “It’s just loaned to me, is all.” He began to shake, knowing there was no choice. “I got me a job. I got work down at Sweetwater.”

Austin’s eyes went blank as he took a shuffling step forward. Clench, unclench went his big, blackened hands. “You went to that place? That viper’s den?”

Cy knew there were worse things than belts. There were fists. Tears sprang to his eyes. “I won’t go back, Daddy. I swear. I only thought—” A hand closed over his throat, cutting off words and air.

“Even my son betrays me. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.” He tossed Cy aside like a limp sock. The boy’s elbows banged painfully on the concrete, but he didn’t cry out. For a long time there was only the sound of breathing.

“You will go back,” Austin said at length. “You’ll go back and you’ll watch. You’ll tell me what he does, which room he sleeps in. You’ll tell me everything you see and hear.”

Cy swiped at his eyes. “Yes sir.”

“And you’ll get me food. Food and water. You bring it here, every morning, every night.” He was smiling again when he hunkered down by his son. His breath was bad, foul as a grave. The light seeped through the opening of the culvert hit his irises and turned them almost white. “You don’t tell your ma, you don’t tell Vernon, you don’t tell nobody.”

“Yes sir.” Cy’s head bobbed in desperate agreement. “But Vernon, he’d help you, Daddy. He could get your truck and—”

Austin slapped a hand across Cy’s mouth. “I said nobody. They’ll be watching Vernon. Watching him day and night because they know he’ll stand by me. But you—they won’t pay no mind to you. Just remember I’ll be watching you. Sometimes I’ll be here, waiting. Sometimes I won’t. But I’ll always be watching you. Understand me? I’ll always be watching you, and listening. The Lord will let me see, let me hear. If you make a mistake, His wrath will smite you down, cleave you in two with one mighty blow.”

“I’ll bring it.” Cy’s teeth chattered over the words. “I promise. I’ll bring it.”

He laid his brutal hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You tell anyone you seen me, and even God Himself won’t save you.”

It took Cy almost an hour to bike to Sweetwater. A quarter of the way there he had to stop and toss up his breakfast. When he was empty, he rinsed off his clammy face with the stingy water of the Little Hope. Because his legs were shaking, he had to ride slow or risk a spill. Every few minutes he looked uneasily over his shoulder, almost certain he would see his father behind him, smiling that smile and snapping the belt they’d taken away from him at the county jail.

When he got to Sweetwater, he saw Tucker was on the side terrace, going through the morning mail. Cy parked the bike with deliberate movements.

“Morning, Cy.”

“Mr. Tucker.” His voice sounded rusty and he coughed to clear it. “I’m sorry about being late. I was—”

“You’re calling your own hours, Cy.” Tucker glanced absently at a stock report and set it aside. “We got no time clock here.”

“Yes sir. If you’ll tell me where to start, I’ll get right on it.”

“Don’t rush me,” Tucker said pleasantly, and tossed a scrap of bacon to the ever-hopeful Buster. “Had breakfast?”

Cy thought about what he’d lost on the side of the road. His stomach twisted evilly. “Yes sir.”

“Then you can come on up here while I finish mine. Then we’ll see what’s to do.”

Reluctantly, Cy climbed the three rounded stairs that led to the terrace. Buster looked up, thumped his tail once in reflex, then burped.

“He’s thrilled to have company,” Tucker said dryly. He tossed one of Josie’s catalogues aside and smiled up at the boy. “Since you’re so all-fired—what the hell’d you do to yourself?”

“Sir?” Panic shot into his voice. “I didn’t do nothing.”

“Hell, boy, your elbows are all scraped to shit.” He took Cy’s arm, turned it. Blood was still seeping slowly, and there was a scattering of nasty-looking grit in the cuts.

“I just took a spill, is all.”

Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Did Vernon do it?” He’d had a few scrapes with Vernon himself, and was well aware the man wouldn’t think anything of laying into the boy.

Like father, like son.

“No, sir.” Cy felt a rush of relief that at least he could tell the truth. “I swear Vernon didn’t touch me. He gets mad sometimes, but I can stay out of his way until he forgets about it. It’s not like Daddy—” He broke off, flushing in mortification. “It wasn’t Vernon. I just took a spill, is alt.”

Tucker’s brow had lifted during the babbling explanation. There was no use pressing the boy or adding to his embarrassment by making him admit his father and brother used him for a punching bag. “Well, slow down. You go on in, tell Della to clean you up.”

“I don’t—”

“Boy.” Tucker leaned back. “One of the privileges of being an employer is to give orders. You go on in, get cleaned up, and take a Coke out of the refrigerator. When you come back, I’ll have figured out how you’re earning your keep today.”

“Yes sir.” Flooded with guilt, Cy rose. He walked into the house with a heavy heart.

Tucker frowned after him. The boy looked like hell, and that was the truth. But who could blame him? Tucker tossed another scrap of bacon to the dog and figured he’d keep Cy busy enough to ease his mind.

By the time the sun was blazing toward noon, Tucker had Cy occupied on the lawn tractor. Word of the Talbot affair had already raced through town, and thanks to Della’s hotline to Earleen, had reached Sweetwater while Billy T.’s bandages were still fresh.

Like good, hand-dipped ice cream, the story came
in several varieties and was consumed with relish. But with the connection between Darleen and Billy T. confirmed, Tucker was interested in only one story.

Junior had found his wife wrapped around Billy T. Bonny on the kitchen table. Billy T. had ended up with a goose egg on the back of his head, and no charges were being filed on either side.

Until something came along to nudge it aside, it would be Innocence’s hot news item.

He took the afternoon to think it through, then had a piece of Della’s banana cream pie and thought some more. It was, after all, a matter of principle. A man could walk away from a lot of things, but he didn’t get far walking away from his principles.

He bribed Della for the use of her car with the promise of a new pair of earrings and a full tank of gas. He drove past Caroline’s lane, wondering if he could talk her into a movie that night. Half a mile down, where Old Cypress Road crossed Longstreet, he parked.

To get from town to his house, or from his house to town, Billy T. would have to drive by that spot. As far as Tucker knew, Billy T. hadn’t missed an evening at McGreedy’s since he could hold a pool cue.

Tucker pulled out a cigarette and settled in to wait.

He was sitting on the hood of Della’s car, thinking about lighting a second one, when he saw Caroline being pulled along by the puppy on a red leash.

She nearly stopped her forward progress, and her fruitless attempts to teach the pup to heel, because she thought she caught a flash of annoyance in Tucker’s eyes.

Then he was smiling. “Honey,” he called out, “where’s that dog taking you?”

“We’re going for a walk.” She was panting a bit by the time she reached the car. Tail wriggling, Useless leapt up to nip at Tucker’s ankles.

“This ain’t the city.” He leaned over enough to scratch the dog’s head as Useless hopped on his hind legs. “Around here you just turn ’em loose in the yard.”

“I’m trying to teach him to mind the leash.”

To show the futility of that, Useless swiveled around and gnawed at it.

“He seems to mind it plenty.” He smiled. “You look tired, Caro. Rough night?”

“Well, the puppy cried a lot.” And even when he’d settled, she’d had a hard time sleeping, thinking that Austin Hatinger might come rapping at her door.

“Cardboard box and a windup alarm clock.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s missing his mama. You put him in a box, maybe with that cushion you bought, and tuck an alarm clock in with him. It’s like a heartbeat. Lulls them off to sleep.”

“Oh.” She thought it over and decided not to mention that he’d lulled off just fine when she’d cuddled him into bed with her. “I’ll have to give that a try. What are you doing standing on the side of the road?”

“I’m sitting,” he corrected her. “Just passing the time.”

“It’s an odd place to pass it. They haven’t caught Hatinger yet, have they?”

“Not so I’ve heard.”

“Tucker, Susie was by earlier and she mentioned Vernon Hatinger. She said he was as bad as his father.”

Idly, Tucker snapped his fingers to entertain Useless. “More like he’s working up to it, I’d say.”

“She said he was always looking to pick a fight, and—”

“Picked a few with me,” Tucker interrupted, reminiscing. “Kicked my ass, I’m sorry to say. Then Dwayne kicked his.” He grinned, remembering how Dwayne had been before the bottle had taken such a choke hold. “I never could seem to put on muscle as a boy. Even working in the field, I ended up with toothpick arms. But Dwayne, he hulked right up. Used those arms to quarterback on the football team and set all the girls to swooning after him. After Vernon tried to pound some righteousness into my face, Dwayne pounded some sin into his.” He let out a long, satisfied breath. “Sin sure as hell won that day.”

“I’m sure that’s a touching story of male bonding,
but my point is, you don’t have just Austin to worry about, but Vernon as well.”

“There isn’t much point worrying about either one of them.”

“Why?” she burst out. “Because your big brother will beat them up for you?”

“These days he’s too busy beating up himself.” He cast a look down Old Cypress Road and saw the telltale plume of gravel dust and the gleam of Billy T.’s souped-up Thunderbird. “It might be best if you walked on back, put this out of your mind. Maybe I’ll stop in later and see how that painting’s going.”

“What is it?” She’d seen that look in his eyes before. When he’d been sprawled on top of her while glass was shattering. When he’d asked her if she had a gun. This man wouldn’t need his big brother or anyone else to fight his battles. She heard the roar of Billy T.’s Glasspacks and turned. “What is it, Tucker?”

“Nothing to concern you. Go on home, Caroline.” He slid off the hood just as Billy T. screamed to a stop.

She gathered up the puppy and stood her ground.

“Hey, Fucker … I mean Tucker.” Billy T. grinned around a toothpick at his own witticism. He wasn’t in a sunny mood. His head still ached, and his pride had suffered a more serious blow than his skull. He was in a kick-ass frame of mind.

“Billy T.” Hands snug in his pockets, Tucker strolled across the road. “Heard you had a little incident this morning.”

His eyes slitted. “What the fuck’s it to you?”

“Just making conversation. You know, as it happens, I was just sitting here waiting for you to come along.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.” Out of the corner of his eye Tucker saw that Caroline had crossed the road as well. Though she stood several feet back, it annoyed the hell out of him. “A little something I’d like to clear up. If you’ve got the time.”