“No.”
Shad pinched at his chin with thumb and forefinger, putting on his thinking cap, hitting the pose but trying not to go overboard with it. You didn’t really want to fuck around with Dave too much.
“Maybe he tripped over his mother’s loom again, coming in wrecked from the roadhouse. You got me wondering now. Did she ever do another paint-by-numbers to replace Elvis and Jesus up on the cloud?”
“No, she liked that one so much she just taped it back together.”
You gave away nothing, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun. He never would’ve tried it in the can, but he had to admit, being home made him feel smarter than he should’ve.
Dave glared, and his tie somehow became even straighter. “You gonna make me sorry you ever came back to town?”
“What a vicious thing to say.”
“I know, I’m appalled at myself as well.”
Lament had the window a quarter of the way down and was sticking his snout and jowls out, tongue lapping at the glass.
“I suppose you’ll do what you have to do while you’re home,” Dave said, “whatever the price.”
“You only know that because you’d do the same.”
“I believe in stepping lightly until it’s time to jump.”
“So do I, but until you all decide what ‘death by misadventure’ means, I guess I have to go my own way on this.”
“Look, I don’t expect you to hand out buttered hot biscuits and gravy to your neighbors. But the sheriff isn’t going to put up with too many problems.”
“If that’s true, then why isn’t he here talking to me instead of you?”
It was a good question. Lament considered it too, head cocked and tail swiping back and forth, oversized puppy paws looking like they were too heavy for him to lift. Dave shifted his stance and Shad saw the hardness come into his eyes. “There was a stabbing at Dober’s last night. Sheriff’s busy with that.”
“Anyone I know?”
“No. I followed up with you as a courtesy, and you ought to count it as such.”
“I do.” This sort of jab and feint was beginning to chip at his resolve. “If you’re interested, Zeke came at me. From behind, charging like an ox. I wasn’t looking for a fight.”
“Learned to be nonviolent in prison, that so? Studied up plenty on the principles of Gandhi.”
“I admit I didn’t mind knocking him on his ass.”
“You did a little more than that.”
“Yes, and it could’ve been worse. Let’s leave it go.”
“All right, for the time being.” Dave turned aside, stared into the deep reflection of his own face peering from the highly buffed hood of the Mustang. Dave Fox’s daddy had once owned one just like it, when he’d gotten back from Da Nang. “Where you headed now?”
Already knowing where Shad was going, but making sure he realized the pressure was on, that the eye was on him.
“Luppy’s place. I want to talk with his new wife.”
“Callie. She’s young, but has a real flair. I like her a lot. Joe’s lucky, and she’s gotten him to change some of his more dire ways.”
“I look forward to meeting her.”
“Wonder if she’ll feel the same.”
They let it go at that. When Dave pulled out and drove past, Shad had the angry urge to race after him, get in front, and smoke him all the way out to Waynescross.
Okay, so that hadn’t gone as well as it might’ve. He got the distinct impression that he’d possibly lost the one friend around here who could actually help him find out what happened to his sister.
Lament picked up on the mood and flicked his tail cautiously, heavy hound dog face drawn into a grief-stricken look. The window was all the way down and Lament hung halfway out of the car, uncertain whether he should jump free. Shad knew how he felt. Hung up half-in and half-out, too scared to leap.
LUPPY JOE HAD BEEN THE KING MOONSHINE MAKER in the hollow for about ten years, running more than three thousand gallons a month. He had fifteen men working for his outfit, driving moon around to three counties, spreading it to the bars and shake shacks, the trailer parks and dice dens, where they’d use food coloring to turn the moon into bourbon, rum, tequila, and scotch.
Shad drove up the deeply grooved back road and swung toward the Anson farm, past clumps of birch and virgin white pine. He didn’t know most of the men wandering around the property stacking boxes inside the barn and hiding the drums and sugar sacks around back.
He expected at least a little hassling but no one flagged him down or gave him any trouble. Luppy must’ve been paying the Feds and local law an even higher kickback, allowing them to pinch a couple of the sixteen-year- old haulers now and again. The kids would only get probation, and the department could spend their money and still look like they were doing their jobs. Nobody gave a shit about the hollow anyway.
Jake Hapgood squatted on the far side of the house near a vat of corn mash, working one of the old-timer stills. He was tapping at the coiled tubing with a wooden bedframe slat. He chawed on a stalk of grass, boots covered with pig shit. He’d trimmed most of the singed ends off and needed another shot of mousse, but his hair was hanging in pretty good, one curl uncoiled over his eye. More duck’s ass today than pompadour.
Shad drove up slowly, watching out for the hogs, and parked. Jake turned and smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of getting back into the make-liquor business.”
“I’ll leave that to the professionals,” Shad said.
“Run-liquor then?”
“No, I’m just here to visit with Joe.”
“Don’t think he’s home, but maybe he snuck in while I wasn’t watching.” He wore a slightly shamed expression that threw Shad for a second until he realized Jake felt guilty about being seen with Becka Dudlow at the bonfire. Situations like that could catch up with a man in the light of day.
Shad decided to ignore it, and soon the embarrassed look slid from Jake’s face. It occasionally took folks a minute or two to realize they had nothing to feel remorseful about in front of an ex-con.
A chuckle eased from Jake, filled with a certain nastiness but not his own. “Heard about what happened to your friend Zeke Hester. I thought you said you weren’t looking to get sent back to the joint.”
“I’m not.”
“You probably shouldn’t have left a good old boy like Griff as a witness then. He hates to talk unless it’s about the Normandy Invasion or something that happened out in front of his store.”
Left a witness. Like Shad was robbing the place and should’ve used a shotgun on anybody who saw him. “All that matters is what Zeke said.”
“Zeke didn’t say anything,” Jake told him. “He sure can blubber like a little girl though.”
“Throws like one too.”
Jake’s torso trembled with silent laughter, holding it in where it belonged because one day he might have to make a choice, and Zeke Hester was always going to be his neighbor. The curl flipped over Jake’s eye one way, and the breeze hiked it back the other. He acted like he was about to tell secrets again, leaned in, but didn’t say anything for a minute. His cooler sat nearby in the hay and he gestured toward it. “Want a beer?”
“No thanks.”
“I can’t go with whiskey every day and night like the old days.”
“Anybody who tries isn’t worth much before long.”
It was the truth, but having it laid out like that took Jake back a step, as if Shad might suddenly be judging.
Maybe they were all losing their slickness. Christ, you couldn’t say any damn thing without offending somebody. He didn’t know when everyone in town had gotten so sensitive, and couldn’t decide if he’d hardened up too far to simply make regular conversation now. The things you had to worry about.
Jake squinted at him an extra second and broke into a grin. He still had every tooth in his head, so he hadn’t started down the road yet. “Jesus, you haven’t lightened up half an inch since the other night. I thought after you
