“You hurt that little girl and there won’t be a hole deep enough for you to hide in. I promise you that, hoss,” Buddy Lee spat.
“Oh, Buddy Lee, you’re so melodramatic. Don’t you see I hold all the cards here? I have the little girl. I’m a judge. You tried to murder me in my own house.” Gerald ran his finger over the wounds on his face. “If I wanted, I could make a call and have your bail set to six figures. You will do what trash like you was made to do. Follow instructions.”
“That scar from that headbutt healed up real good didn’t it?” Buddy Lee said. Gerald laughed.
“Always the hypermasculine hard man, hmm, Buddy? Tell me, in your whole life what has that ever gotten you but misery?” Gerald asked. He seemed genuinely interested in Buddy Lee’s answer. Buddy Lee sat back in the chair and traced his forefinger over the wiry stubble over his chin.
“You’re right. There’s been times I’ve been miserable. Times where all I wanted to do was lay down and die. If I added them up, those times would beat the good times two to one, no doubt about that,” Buddy Lee said. Gerald opened his mouth to speak, but Buddy Lee held that forefinger up and waggled it side to side.
“But good times or bad, I ain’t never lied about who I was. I ain’t never pretended to be anything but a hell-raising, whiskey-drinking, hard-loving redneck son of a bitch. Most nights I sleep like a baby. I ain’t ashamed of who I am. I’d like to think my boy picked that up from me. How about you, Winthrop? How you feel about yourself coming home to Chrissy after spending all night bumping uglies with Tangerine? What do the man in the mirror think about the man who always running his mouth about people he called deviants and disgusting? Who talks about it ain’t Adam and Steve, it’s Adam and Eve and all that happy shit, when the whole time he was lighting it up with the T in LGBTQ? Which one of us you think sleeps better … hoss?” Buddy Lee asked. He leaned forward. Gerald smiled but a vein in his forehead throbbed. Buddy Lee laughed. He leaned his head back and chortled to the rafters.
“Oh, you didn’t know we knew about that? Hey, no judgment here. I’m what you call an ally,” Buddy Lee said. Gerald stopped smiling.
“I’m going to tell the magistrate I’m not pressing charges because I know you are so distraught over your dead pervert of a son. You will go to Ike and the two of you will bring me Tangerine. Do this and the little girl will be returned to you unharmed. However, if you don’t follow your directions to the letter, I can assure you Arianna will die a most horrible death,” Gerald said. He stood and headed for the door. When he turned the knob Buddy Lee spoke. He didn’t shout and he didn’t yell.
“One day sooner than you think the last thing you gonna hear is your heart going still. And the last thing you ever gonna see is me or Ike standing over you holding it in our hands. Remember I told you that,” Buddy Lee said. Gerald chuckled. The echo bounced around the room.
“My associates will be in touch,” Gerald said. He left the room.
“Sooner than you think,” Buddy Lee said softly.
THIRTY-NINE
Ike dropped a few coins into the vending machine to get a soda. He watched the spiral spring spin and drop the soda can into the bin. He reached in and grabbed it. He wished the machine had cans of beer or, better yet, a bottle of whiskey. Mya had come out of surgery but she was still unconscious. The doctor said because of the swelling on her brain she might wake up in a few hours or she might wake up in a few weeks. The hospital staff had offered him a recliner to sleep in beside her bed. He would have slept on the floor. Tomorrow he’d have to see what was left of their house. What was left of their life. Perform all the adult tasks that came with material tragedies. Call the insurance company, get a police report from a sheriff that knew he was holding something back. All the mind-numbing minutiae that kept the world moving even after you’ve lost everything.
His cell phone chirped.
He picked it up and saw it was Buddy Lee. He hit END.
The phone rang again.
He hit END again.
The phone rang again. This time he answered it.
“Call here again and I’ll kill you,” Ike said.
“It was Gerald Culpepper,” Buddy Lee said.
“What? Who is that?” Ike said.
“Derek’s stepfather. He’s who Tangerine was fucking. He’s a judge and he got the Rare Breed in his pocket,” Buddy Lee said.
Ike moved to the molded plastic chair in the waiting room and sat down with his drink.