Dirty South Drug Wars (33 page)

*

The building on the outside was nondescript, looking like any other hole-in-the-wall barbeque joint in the South: red brick, crumbling around the edges, the word “Bar-B-Que” painted in large, fading letters along one side.

The inside of the restaurant was filled with the sounds of old men laughing intermingled with forks clinking against cheap dinnerware, causing me to cringe; it was a sound that grated on my nerves.

I sat at a small, round table, my fingers absently tracing the deep scrapes and cracks along the oak surface. Mason jars filled with dollar-store flowers sat on display on each table, a thin coating of dust lacing the stiff, fading petals.

I removed a knife from the mismatched silverware wrapped with a single sheet of a paper towel. I spun the knife on the table, stopping it each time it twirled around, the tip of the water-spotted utensil pointing at my table companion.

My dinner company paid me no mind. He was too busy devouring a barbeque sandwich. The pulled pork fell from the edges of the homemade bun, landing in rust-colored lumps on his white plate, splattering the orange sauce in tiny droplets along the surface of the marred table and the front of his shell-colored shirt, the sleeves of which were shoved up past his elbows. He wore a tie as well, although it was loosened around his collar and thrown over one shoulder.

A month ago, hell, maybe a week ago, this man’s mere presence would have set me on edge, but so much had happened in the span of that summer. I felt as though I were hollow, spooned out, empty, the way Lucy and I would gut a pumpkin at Halloween.

“You sure you don’t want no dinner, child?” our waitress asked.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I reckon it’s too hot to eat today.”

She wiped the back of her arm across her brow, capturing the beaded sweat gathered there. “You got that right, sugar.” The waitress gave me a concerned frown. “You holler if you need anything, you hear? And I mean anything.”

“I will,” I replied. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

I continued to swirl the knife around on the table. The man quite literally cleaned his plate with the remains of his bun, sopping up the sauce with the bread then popping it into his mouth.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed watching you eat everything but the kitchen sink,” I said, “it’d be nice if you filled me in on why you’re here. My sister is in intensive care, Detective Holloway, and I don’t like leaving her alone for long.”

The merry shimmer and shine of the wonderful bounty of a meal departed from his eyes. “And why is it you don’t like leaving her alone? I assure you she has the best care money can buy. I hear old Graham Montgomery is footing the bill himself.”

A wave of anger washed over me as I stared at the man. There was nothing I hated more than a Fed, other than Amos, Davis, Ray … and sometimes Christine, who’d almost surpassed Amos on my hate scale. Memories of the FBI and DEA flashed through my mind, storming into our house, terrifying my sissy. I hated them. I hated them all.

“The Montgomerys have been very generous to Lucy and me.” I spun the knife so it pointed in his direction once more.

His superficial, knowing smile brought a scowl to my face. “And why is that? Why are they so nice to you and your sister? Because you’re bedding their nephew? Because Lucy is bedding their pseudo-adopted son?”

“That’s why you brought me here? To question me about my sex life?” I smiled as his face turned red when the word “sex” dripped from my lips. “You’re so young, Detective. I’m surprised the FBI didn’t send a more
seasoned
detective from Jackson to investigate … what exactly are you investigating again?”

“The deaths of Levi Bridges, Davis Montgomery, and Drew Kingsley.” Detective Holloway shoved his plate aside, propping his elbows on the scarred table.

Drew?

I tried not to look surprised. “Deaths? I thought they were disappearances.”

“That’s what y’all would like everyone to think, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure who ‘y’all’ is, Detective.” I shrugged, picking up the knife and digging the tip into the surface of the table. “I have nothing to do with the disappearances of those men.”

Detective Holloway studied me for a long moment while my knife scratched against the table. I knew his game, understood the way he stared at me, seeking any signs of discomfort or deception hidden within my expression.

Our waitress returned to the table, clearing away the dishes and offering dessert. Holloway shooed her away.

Holloway reached down beside him, grasping the handle of a briefcase that sat tucked by his side. “You want to know why they sent a young detective? This is why they sent me.”

He opened the briefcase, removed some papers, and tossed them across the table. They slid in front of me, fanning open, exposing photographs and documents.

“My father investigated the Montgomery-Monroe dispute for years before his death,” the detective said. “As his father did before him and his father before him. My father became somewhat
obsessed
with it, which is why I specifically requested this case. I owe it to my family to put an end to this dispute.”

“Is that what you call our lives? A dispute? I call it a tragedy, Detective Holloway.”

“I’d call it more of a legend,” he replied. “You don’t understand how famous your families are, do you, Rue? You don’t realize how often your surnames have slipped from the whispered tongues of Southerners for generations. How the dispute between your families has become legendary throughout the South and beyond. Aren’t you tired of the whispers and stares? Don’t you want to move on with your life?”

“If I help you,” I said, “if I tell you the things you want, I don’t see much of a
life
for myself, if you catch my drift.”

Holloway leaned back in his chair. “What if exoneration is offered on your behalf? On Tanner’s behalf? Does that sweeten the pot?”

I tossed the papers on the table and picked up the knife, pressing the tip deeper into the wood this time. “Exoneration isn’t good enough. Exoneration doesn’t keep either me or Tanner alive. I’ll confess to nothing, Detective. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I don’t believe your sister attempted suicide,” he confessed. “Have you heard about Drew Kingsley’s truck? It was found in a wooded area less than two miles from your home.”

The knife slipped from my fingers, the handle clanging against the table. I pulled my hands below the table to my lap, clasping them together to prevent them from shaking. My brain worked to weave together the missing pieces of my sister’s suicidal puzzle.

“You think Drew tried to kill my sister? You think he shot her up with meth, trying to make it appear as an overdose?”

“Your sister has bruising on her body that appeared the day after she was admitted to the hospital,” the man replied wearily. “Not from the CPR. Large handprints on her arms where someone either held her down or gripped her too roughly. She wasn’t alone when the methamphetamine was injected into her bloodstream.”

“How do you know about the bruises?
I
didn’t even know.”

“I’m a detective.” He shrugged. “Bruises take longer than a day to show up on most people. What you assumed were injuries from CPR are really evidence in a case of attempted murder, a murder attempt I believe your uncle constructed. We know Drew has been working with Davis and Amos. We’ve gathered enough evidence against Amos’ drug trafficking business to send him away for a long time. If there was any evidence he was involved in Lucy’s overdose, we could get him for attempted murder as well.”

“What about my father’s murder? What sort of information do you have on that?” I asked. “That’s what started this whole mess. My father and Tanner’s father were murdered by that man. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he murdered them just the same. Doesn’t that count for anything? Lucy is in a coma, Drew is missing. What if he never comes back? You’ll never get the information you need. Focus on our Amos, Detective Holloway, and leave us out of it.”

“I’ve focused on Amos, damn it. There is no evidence against him, or anyone else,” he retorted. “I’d be more than happy to put him away for good if there was any. It was my father’s dream to end this man. Don’t you think I want this, maybe just as badly as you do?”

I thought of the information I had from Nana’s safe, information that pointed to Davis. Other than the diaries and birth certificate, there was little else to imply Amos was involved with Tanner and my fathers’ murders. I remembered how Graham wanted nothing more than to end the dispute himself, to end
Amos
himself, without the help of the Feds.

If the Feds found the evidence in the safe, they would blame everything on Davis, ignoring the circumstantial evidence pointing at Amos. Then what? They’d stay in Birchwood searching for Davis, who, to my knowledge, remained a prisoner in the Montgomery home?

“No one wants to end this as badly as I do,” I said. “Can I go now, Detective? My sister needs me.”

“I’m surprised they’re allowing you back inside the hospital. After that stunt you pulled, announcing your relationship with Tanner in front of your kin, I’m shocked you’re allowed anywhere on the premises. I guess being with a Montgomery has its perks.”

I sighed, exhausted by his games. “Am I free to leave?”

“Yes, Rue. You’ve always been free to leave. But this isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

“Great.”

I dropped the knife next to my carving, next to various carvings which people had scratched into the surface of the table over the years. The blade landed with the tip pointing at Tanner and my names.

The minutes, hours, and days dragged by after Lucy’s overdose. I fretted over my sister. She hadn’t moved again, not one single time since that one little twitching of her finger.

Tanner, the September sun, and my perpetual state of worry were now the only constants in my life.

Tanner remained by my side; he was my rock, my strength through the stormy trials of those endless days. He ignored the whispers, stares, and scowls of my various family members during the time we spent in the hospital, placing a stoic, unwavering expression on his face. The only relatives of mine unaffected by his presence were Josie and Nana.

Chance weathered the storm with us as well. He, like Tanner and I, remained near Lucy at all times. His blond hair was disheveled and slightly greasy. To say he was in dire need of a good, hot shower was an understatement. Hell, we all were.

Christine’s constant presence was nothing short of awkward and unfortunate. She sat in a small recliner-type chair throughout the days, her legs tucked underneath her as she skimmed through the pages of old magazines. When she’d grow tired, she’d rest her head against the recliner, her auburn curls fanning out against the stiff, salmon-colored fabric.

How sleep came so easily to her was beyond my comprehension. I’d only nodded off for a couple of hours throughout those days, and even then it was only out of pure exhaustion.

No matter how long I pondered over Christine, I could never wrap my brain around why she remained at the hospital. I expected her to show up and play the part of the sad mother, but I never expected her to remain by Lucy’s side. Especially once she found out who Lucy and I were dating.

Christine was pissed upon finding out about Tanner; there was no doubt about that. I was unsure why considering her past relationship with Davis.

First came Christine’s shock, then her burning hatred. She’d glare at me with her lips pressed together in a thin line. But she remained silent, choosing to sit in that stiff-assed recliner and read, ironically enough,
Parents
magazine.

Christine’s presence was not only unwanted by me, but by Nana as well. Nana visited frequently at short intervals and called constantly. During her visits she would hover over little Lucy, adjusting the sheet and thin blanket tucked around her while peering anxiously at her face. Nana would squeeze and pat her hand, eventually shuffling out as she struggled in vain to hide her teary eyes.

I guessed we all felt a little guilty over Lucy. I saw it in Nana’s watery eyes, felt it humming through the air from her body as she walked away. She blamed herself, just as Chance did, allowing the “what ifs” to repeat over and over in her brain.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t blame them both a bit for Lucy’s overdose. Accusation was easier to swallow than the hard knot of my own guilt that stayed embedded in my throat. I was my sister’s protector. I had been since the day she was born. It was my job to keep her safe, and I’d failed her.

I’d failed myself.

Detective Holloway continued to sniff around, although he was pretty neutral around my family and me. We weren’t strangers to law enforcement. We never had been, and never would be, so his appearance didn’t plague us much. We answered his questions and then ignored him, as we had in previous years when the FBI or DEA stepped in.

There were two people conveniently missing from the mix of things: Uncle Amos and Drew Kingsley.

Once Lucy was weaned from the ventilator and began breathing on her own, the frequency of our uncle’s visits dwindled until they ceased altogether. Lucy had yet to awaken, but I held onto hope, praying for my sister to get better, wake up, and explain the events that took place the night of her overdose.

Amos’ disappearing poked and prodded my brain, leaving me all twisted and jumbled up inside. I remained suspicious of him, believing he’d possibly hired or bribed Drew to murder my sister. It was all too convenient how Amos left the football game, how Drew’s truck was found stashed in the woods near our home, and the hand-shaped bruising on Lucy’s body.

I remembered Shelby’s words about Peyton, how he was selling drugs for Davis. I thought about questioning Peyton, but in the end I held back; he was untrustworthy. The last thing I needed was for him to tip Amos off that I was onto everything.

It was a Sunday when life took another nosedive, spinning our world into a tornado of chaos. I awoke with my body stiff from the hard, uncomfortable recliner Tanner and I shared. Normally the two of us lay in each other’s arms, although sometimes I’d climb on Lucy’s hospital bed and rest next to my sister. That morning, however, I awoke alone, with nothing but the gentle breaths of my sister to comfort me and the sound of Christine’s incessant light snores.

I stretched and yawned before standing from the chair and walking to the window. The sun was barely over the horizon, coating the dewy morning in a light sherbet-orange glow.

After walking to the restroom and brushing my teeth, I peeked my head out into the hallway. Two familiar silhouettes stood down the lengthy hospital corridor.

Amos and Buck.

Concealing myself in Lucy’s room, I watched as they conversed, solemn expressions on both their faces. They looked down the corridor at Lucy’s door at times, but I was confident they couldn’t see me through the thin crack between door and wall. They spoke at length before they turned and strolled toward the elevators, disappearing from my view.

I stepped away from the door but paused as Tanner slipped from a room near where Amos and Buck had stood. Tanner’s face was pinched in distress as he stalked to Lucy’s room. I pushed the door open, revealing myself.

Tanner halted at the door, noticing Christine asleep on the recliner. He gestured for me to follow him into the bathroom. I cast one last glimpse into my sister’s room before following and closing the door behind us.

“You were right,” he whispered. “We have to get Lucy out of here.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I went to grab a Coke from the vending machine. When I started back to Lucy’s room I heard Amos and Buck talking. I ducked into an empty room and stood near the door to listen.

“They were all in on it, Rue. Amos, Buck, and Drew. Buck was the lookout. He watched your house the night of Lucy’s overdose. He called Drew after you left for the game then called Amos when he saw us pull into the drive. Buck kept a visual somewhere nearby the entire time, watching, waiting.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I knew they were all in on it together. When Lucy wakes up, she’s going to tell everyone what happened. It’ll be enough to have them locked up.”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?” he asked. “What if Lucy never wakes up? They’ll get away with it. They’ll get away with killing Jeb, my father, and Lucy. We can’t let them get away with it, Rue. Besides, I don’t think Amos plans for Lucy to wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

Tanner raked his fingers through his hair. “Amos can’t take the chance of Lucy ever waking up, which is what I overheard him and Buck discussing. That Fed has been snooping around, asking Amos a bunch of questions. The doctor said Lucy should pull through fine. Now Amos is nervous. Nervous people do crazy things. I think he’ll try to kill Lucy, somehow, some way. Maybe he’ll pay someone off, get a nurse to mix up her meds with something lethal. Maybe he’ll make it look like an accident. Maybe—”

I held up my hand. “Stop. I don’t want to know your theories on how he’s gonna off my sister. Tell me your plans on how to save her.”

“We need to distract the staff away from her room while we move her. How in the hell does someone sneak a patient out of a hospital?”

“We could do it at night,” I replied. “There’s less staff, which means less people paying attention.”

Tanner grinned. “Not only is my girlfriend hot, she’s a damn genius.”

I nudged him, not believing him for a second but pleased with his words. “Don’t call me a genius until Lucy is safely out of this hospital.”

Tanner pulled out his cell and scrolled down the screen until he found his uncle’s number. “Graham will help us hammer out the details. Moving unresponsive people from one location to the next is his specialty.”

*

Josie removed the thin hospital blanket from my sister’s pale, flaccid leg. “Lucy, you really look like shit. Being in a coma is no excuse for lack of good personal hygiene.”

Josie painted Lucy’s toenails an audacious bloody red, the color standing out against her skin. Lucy remained in her peaceful slumber, her long lashes resting against her cheeks, unaware of our cousin’s insults and pampering.

A textbook lay in my lap, as it had all day long. I couldn’t for the life of me tell which subject I was supposed to be studying. Josie gathered my school work each day, bringing it to the hospital so I could work on it in the confines of Lucy’s room.

There was something about that particular day that stole my attention from the pages in front of me. It could have been the doctors ducking in and out all day long, confounded by my sister’s condition. She breathed on her own and showed signs of brain activity. They could find no medical reason for her state of unconsciousness. Maybe it was the memory of Christine’s vicious glares weighing on my mind, or the thought of Amos harming my sister. Either way, my homework remained in my lap untouched.

Olivia curled her legs under her in the chair Christine normally rested in. “I still can’t get over the two of you dating Montgomery boys.”

Tanner and I remained in our normal spot, curled up in the recliner at Lucy’s bedside. He traced patterns across my bare arm while Josie and Olivia spoke. Goose bumps erupted across my flesh with each stroke of his finger. I heard his quiet chuckle in my ear, my head resting in the crook of his neck. I was content in his arms, even when Christine was present, even during my cousin’s questions of our relationship and my sister’s unresponsive state. Luckily, Christine had gone for a cup of coffee, leaving us all plenty of breathing room.

Olivia took the nail polish from a glaring Josie. She ran the brush along Lucy’s big toe, coating the nail with the angry color. “Peyton is furious, by the way. He says you’re a bunch of traitors. I can’t believe your parents didn’t flip their shit, Josie.”

“Oh, they did,” Josie replied. “They were pissed, but what’re they gonna do? Shoot me? Ha! Amos, maybe, but not them.”

“Yeah, Amos is super pissed.” Olivia’s voice was light and careless. “I heard him talking to Daddy at the office. Everyone assumes I’m clueless, walking around with my head in the clouds. I know what’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” Josie asked. “What did you hear them say?”

Olivia shrugged, finishing the last toenail and shoving the brush into the bottle before screwing it back on. “I heard them arguing when I filled in for their secretary. I was filing paperwork for Daddy when Amos came storming in. He slammed the door behind him, but I could still hear every word.”

Olivia’s voice trailed off. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on her chapped lip as she studied Lucy, her best friend.

“They’re all in on it,” she whispered. “All the brothers. Amos is the ringleader. It was all his idea; the others, they’ll do anything he tells them to do. They’ve been working with Davis Montgomery and a man named Ray for years. They were planning on taking down Graham soon, taking over his contacts so they can build their own empire.

“Then y’all messed up their plans, started snooping around, messing with the Montgomery boys. They’re scared of you, Rue. They’re scared of you and Lucy, terrified that you have some sort of information on Uncle Jeb’s death.

“They work with Davis, but they don’t trust him. You can’t trust anyone in the game. He’s got something linking Amos to Jeb’s death, but I dunno what it is. They’re scared, you know? They’re scared Davis gave y’all the information.”

“Why are you telling us this?” I asked.

“Because Lucy’s my best friend,” Olivia responded. “She’s always been there for me. I love my father, but what he and his brothers are doing is wrong. I’m sorry, Josie, that you had to find out about Uncle Saul this way.”

Josie sighed. “Daddy is a dirty dog. I love the bastard for the simple fact that he’s my daddy, but that doesn’t make what he did right. We need that evidence.”

Tanner continued to stroke my arm, appearing lost in the action. “Davis isn’t talking.”

Davis isn’t talking. Does he mean Davis remains a captive in Graham’s basement, refusing to crumble under whatever sort of torture Graham is inflicting?

“It doesn’t matter,” Chance spoke up.

Chance was so quiet I’d almost forgotten he was there. He sat on the opposite side of Lucy’s hospital bed, holding one of her limp hands in his own.

Josie opened her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted by the shrieking of an alarm. The sound was shattering, the type of shrill that left my ears throbbing and my brain bleeding.

“Shit!” Olivia pressed her hands over her ears. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s the fire alarm,” Josie yelled.

We all covered our ears in a fruitless attempt to drown out the noise while a flutter of activity began outside Lucy’s open door. Staff rushed by, yelling to one another above the deafening sound.

I tossed my textbook on Lucy’s bedside table and jumped up, following Tanner and Chance to the door. The three of us looked out in the hallway, with Josie and Olivia close behind. We stepped into the corridor, looking for the source of the commotion.