Down 'N' Derby (3 page)

Nixon

Chapter 6

Why do people feel the need to add things to sweet tea?  Seriously, it’s the epitome of drinks by itself.  If you add raspberry or peach or even lemon to my tea you better run, either that or expect death by tea drowning. 

             
I snuck out after Mad took his Sleepy Syrup.  That’s what I called it.  It was this blue shit; looked like Smurf blood to me—supposedly helped him sleep.  I found a dark corner between the Coke machine and ice machine and copped a squat to make my call.

             
It rang three times before she answered, “Hey, I’m walking outside.”

             
I heard a door open and close again and then she cleared her throat.

             
“Where are y’all?” She whispered.

             
“Ruby, Nebraska—headed towards Omaha tomorrow.  His name is Einer Macon.  That’s who we’re looking for.  He rented  a house in Omaha three years ago.  That’s our first stop.  He’s gonna call you in the morning from a payphone right before we leave.  I’ll call when I can.”

             
“Nixon?” She almost sounded like a mouse.

             
“Yeah Reed?”

             
“Is he okay?”  She sounded desperate. 

             
“Yeah, he is.  I would call you immediately if he wasn’t okay.”  As much as I hated to trust the whole lot of females, this one was a good one, along with Nellie.  How they’d both managed to find cool girls who didn’t sleep around was beyond me. 

             
“Yeah, ok.” She whispered and I hung up the phone, turned it off and went back to the hotel room.

Chapter 7

Reed

Nellie does this thing where she’s trying to give you the stink eye but she doesn’t quite pull it of
f—she’s too nice.  I usually think she smells something bad or she needs glasses.  She did it the other day and Owen said, “Reed, she’s giving you the stink eye.” Nellie jumped up, pissed off as all get out and screamed, “Damn it Owen, it doesn’t count if you have to tell her. What the hell?”

              I went back into the house and opened the door to Sylvia weeping on the couch and Nellie consoling her.  I sat on the other side of Sylvia and she held my hand.  After a few minutes more of both Nellie and I consoling her she said she was going upstairs to take a late nap and would be back later. 

             
“You can’t get off the phone with Mushy Gushy for five minutes so we can be here for Sylvia?  Come on, Reed!”

             
“It wasn’t Falcon, butthole.”

             
She brought out her derby face, “Well, who was it?  You had to go outside.”

             
“You are so nosy.”  I clipped back at her and she crossed her arms in a huff.

             
Chase came in shortly after and went to check on Sylvia.  She sent him back down with word that she wouldn’t be coming back and we should just go home. 

             
“Ugh—Owen went out fishing somewhere.” She groaned.

             
“So, you can have a
me
night, ‘cause I’m going back home.”

             
“A
me
night?  What are you a self-punish book?”

             
“Goodnight Nellie, loves you.”

             
“Loves you back you big meaner.”

             
And with that I went home and used the car ride to go over Nixon’s call again.  Why they were choosing to confide in me was clear but the secret keeping was wearing on my heart.  I parked my car in the driveway behind Falcon’s truck and waited a minute.  He had some kind of supersonic hearing because whether I was supposed to be home or not he could hear when my car pulled into the driveway.  Just then, the front door opened and he burst out through the screen door with the biggest grin on his face. 

             
I got out and met him at the door, still smiling like a goon.

             
“Come on Poppy, I wasn’t that seductive over the phone,” He laughed.             

             
“No, you weren’t.  Your mom wasn’t up for the girls’ night.  She went to bed early.”

             
“I’m so worried about her.  What about Hellie?” He closed the door behind me.

             
“She pouted because she had to go home alone.” 

             
“She’ll live,” he joked, “But I’m glad you came home because apparently I need some practice.” 

             
“Practice what—number crunching?”

             
He came up behind me and laid soft kisses along the base of my neck. 

             
“No smartass, practice getting you to drop everything when I use my sexy voice over the phone.”

             
“Ah, well, it worked but Nellie ruined the moment.  Her screeching in the grocery store is like one of those ring wraiths on Lord of the Rings.”

             
He laughed against the back of my neck, “Nerd points.”

             
“How can I ever compete with a girls’ night?” His hands moved under my shirt along my waistline.               

             
“We can think of something.”

             
“Mmmhmm, I think we can.”

Chapter 8

Mad

I dreamed about the beach last night.  And not the Gulf of Mexico beaches either.  Maybe it’s because California is on my list of places to go.  That must be it.

             
I woke the next morning with a massive pounding in my head.  Nixon slept like the dead and every morning I had to drag him, out of the bed until his feet hit the floor.  When those knobby toes hit the floor, it was like someone stuck him in the ass with a gallon sized syringe of adrenaline.  He was ready to go and nothing was stopping him. 

             
I went to the payphone as Nixon threw all of our bags in the back of the SUV and called Reed.  It was still way early for her, but that couldn’t be helped.

             
“Hello?” She said groggily.

             
“Ruby, Nebraska and I’m fine.”

             
“Ok,” She said and hung up.

             
I got in Nixon’s vehicle without a word and I could see him smiling and shaking his head from my peripheral.  I ignored him and stuck my earbuds in my ears while he drove. 

             
He reached over and yanked the one in my left ear out.

             
“So, I’ve got some questions,” he said.

             
“Who said you were allowed questions?” I replied, pleased with my smartassery.

             
“If I’m driving your smug self all around the country then I get to ask questions that I’ve been dying to ask.”

             
“Go on, gossip girl, ask away,” I waved my hand at him but it didn’t faze him half as much as I wanted.

             
“So, how long have you known?” He cringed as he asked it but obviously he’d been curious for quite some time.

             
“Since I was nine.” I was determined to play court witness with him, answer the questions as simply as possible.

             
“And your mom was sick?” He turned his blinker on and merged into traffic.

             
“Yeah, her name was Sela.  She had diabetes, had since she was a kid. Of course, it didn’t help that she got pregnant with me.” I shrugged, Nixon was my cousin on my Dad’s side, which is why he didn’t know anything about my mom, aunt, whatever.  His dad was Chase’s brother Winston.

             
He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute before continuing, “So you were five months old and Aunt Syl adopted you after your mom died?”

             
“Yeah, any more questions?” I knew I was being an ass again but my head still pounded and Mr. Inquisitive wasn’t helping.

             
“So, that’s when your caterpillar thing started?”

             
“I swear if you make a reference to me becoming a butterfly, I’m going to murder you and leave you here with no good sweet tea for miles—and no ketchup.”
              That got him rolling.  “No, like a stinging caterpillar-you can pick them up but if you touch them the wrong way their stingers come out.”

             
“Yeah, it started a little after that.” 

             
“One more question and then I’ve got to stop somewhere for breakfast.”

             
“We’ve only been on the road for twenty minutes, Hog.”

             
“I know but I’m a growin’ boy.”

             
“Just ask the damned question already.” I snapped at him.  What I needed right now was a steaming bowl of grits and four pain killers for the screwdriver twisting in my eye.

             
“You’re always with girls.  Like all the time—different ones.  Don’t you get twitchy or whatever?” He pulled off the highway onto an exit ramp that looked promising for breakfast.

             
“Yeah, every single time.”

             
True to his word he didn’t ask any more questions but as we sat down to get breakfast at a truck stop I remembered that we weren’t in the South anymore.  But I waited patiently for Nixon to say something.  I could just see it brewing ready to pour me a big cup of Southern boy criticism.

             
“Who in the name of all that’s holy eats potatoes au gratin and cornmeal mush for breakfast?  And why would I ever want a slice of cheese with my apple pie?  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Mad, you have brought us to Yankeeville.”

             
I couldn’t do anything but crack up at him, especially since his Cajun accent got a little thicker as he picked through the Northern breakfast fare. But what really cracked his canister is when the waitress walked up to the table and asked, “What can I get you guys?”

             
At the words, ‘you guys’ Nixon simply closed his eyes and bit the insides of his cheeks.  I told her we needed a minute and she said, “Let me know when you’re ready, eh?”

             
He finally opened his eyes and asked me if he thought he’d be safe with pancakes and bacon.  We decided we would be safe and we both ordered that.  We paid the ticket and got back on the road. 

             
“If I trusted that place I would’ve ordered a sweet tea to go but dayum.”

             
“Shut up and quit moanin’.  Let’s get ourselves to Omaha.”

             
I drove the rest of the way to Omaha and then Nixon used the GPS on his phone to get us to the teensy powder blue house with aluminum shutters and a screen door whose screen was more of an opened envelope, pulled back at one corner.  We parked across the street in case we needed a quick getaway. I knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t be here, mostly because this had been listed as his residence three years ago but it was the closest one to Louisiana. 

             
We sat there for at least thirty minutes like two rent-a-cops before Nixon cleared his throat and turned to me, “He can’t eat you.”

             
“I know that.  I’m going.”

             
Everything suddenly became louder.  The handle on the car door flopped back into place, the creak of the hinge as it opened, Nixon pushing the eject button on the CD player, it was all so freakin’ loud.  I stepped out onto the road and was met with a honking horn and had to step back to avoid the incoming car.  And of course my cousin had to put his two cents in, “Yo, he can’t eat you but the damn cars can still kill you.”

             
I flipped him the bird as I walked across the street, looking both ways this time.  I could hear my flops flapping against my heels as I approached the porch and I finally knocked on the door.  An older woman with a white apron and a white bun in her hair answered after a few more knocks. 

             
“How can I help you, young man?” She asked.

             
I coaxed my voice to return to my throat and gave her my best smile as I answered, “Yes ma’am, I’m looking for Einer Macon.”

             
She opened the screen door and looked me up and down more than once. “Well, Einer is my nephew but he hasn’t lived here for two or three years.”

             
“Do you know where I can find him, ma’am?” She smiled a pity smile at me and nodded.