Turning Angel

”No, it was more like a powerful flashlight.“

”A tactical light,“ Dad says. ”Sure, I’ve got one I can mount on that Browning. Be right back.“

He disappears into the house, then returns with a small black object. ”Look here. You flip this catch, then slide the light onto these grooves cut into the gun stock. When you let go of the catches, it’s locked on.“ He demonstrates the move for me twice. ”To flick on the light, just push up this lever with your trigger finger.“

I test the light by shining it toward Dad’s backyard fence. An armadillo rooting in the yard freezes, then scuttles away.

”Take him out,“ Dad says. ”Those bastards tear this yard to pieces.“

”I’ll leave him to you. I’d better get moving. I’ve got a babysitter keeping Annie.“

Dad frowns. ”Caitlin’s still out of town?“

”Yeah.“

He shakes his head but says nothing. He doesn’t have to.

”I’ll see you, Dad.“

”Remember,“ he calls, ”there’s more where that came from.“

The gun or Caitlin?I wonder. But of course he meant both.

By the time I reach Washington Street, my hands have steadied a bit. I park in front of my house and look over at the town house to the right of mine-Caitlin’s house when she’s in town, which is less and less of late. Some nights when she’s gone, I look that way with an infantile wish that I’ll see lights on inside, signifying a surprise return, but that’s never happened. And tonight I don’t even feel the wish. It’s just an empty house.

I walk up the three steps to my familiar blue door, unlock it, and walk inside. For a brief moment I’m suffused with terror, an irrational fear that I’ll find Annie and Mia slashed and bleeding on the floor. But of course they’re not. Mia is asleep on the couch in my study, balled up beneath the comforter from my bed. Her cell phone sits on the back of the couch beside a paperback copy of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History. Annie is undoubtedly asleep in her room upstairs.

I don’t know whether to wake Mia or to let her sleep through the night. I don’t even know what to do about myself. I’m exhausted, but I don’t think I could sleep without a strong sedative. I should have asked Dad for something. Maybe a Lorcet.

Sensory overload,says a voice in my head. I told Deputy Burns the truth about my past in Houston, but that was a long time ago. Another life ago. The grotesque scenes I saw tonight hit me with the same impact they would a layman, or perhaps even harder. I think human beings can endure only so much carnage and waste; beyond a certain limit, one either breaks down or becomes utterly desensitized. That break point differs from person to person, but I sense that I’m close to mine. I’ve seen dozens of murder victims in person, and hundreds in crime scene photographs. I’ve watched nine of the twelve men and women I sent to death row be executed. I watched my wife die a horrific death from cancer. And I watched the maid who practically raised me die from third-degree burns despite my best efforts to save her. Spread among those dead are the people I’ve watched suffer but live to tell about it. If this tally continues to grow, I’m not sure which side of the equation I’ll tip over on- breakdown or numbness.

”Hey,“ says Mia, blinking and smiling up from the sofa. ”What time is it?“

”Around midnight,“ I reply, setting my father’s Browning on top of a glass-fronted bookcase behind me.

Mia squints at me. ”Are you okay? You don’t look good.“

”I’m not sure.“

She rises from the couch and walks past me to the hall. ”Stay there. I’ll make some tea.“

I obey, grateful to be told what to do. When Mia returns with the tea, I’m still standing in the spot where she left me, staring at the rows of hardcover books on my shelves.

”Come sit,“ she says, setting two china cups on the coffee table before the sofa.

”Sarah chose those cups,“ I say softly.

Mia watches me closely. ”Your wife?“

”Yes.“

”I’ve seen pictures of her in the photo albums. Annie showed them to me.“

I nod distantly.

”I think Annie still misses her a lot.“ Mia sucks her lips between her teeth as if reluctant to continue. ”Do you?“

”Sometimes.“

”I thought you’d have a family picture out. With the three of you, you know?“

”I used to. I think it started to bother Caitlin after a while. She never said anything, but I took it down when I repainted and then pretended to forget to put it back up.“

Mia nestles herself into the corner of the sofa and tucks her legs beneath her. ”I think the tea’s ready to drink.“

I walk to the coffee table and drain half my cup in one swallow. The tea is almost scalding, but I welcome the pain.

”Can you tell me what happened tonight?“ Mia asks.

”You don’t already know?“

”Nobody called me with anything new. Is it bad?“

”Yes.“

”Can you tell me?“

”I guess. It’ll be all over town by tomorrow. I just…I’m really wiped out.“

”Thirty words or less?“

”Somebody tried to kill a black drug dealer. He got three of the dealer’s friends instead. And the Wilsons are dead.“

Mia’s eyes go wide. ”The Wilsons Marko lives with?“

”That’s right.“

”Did Marko do it?“

This brings me partly from my trance. ”You obviously think he’s capable of it.“

”I don’t know why I said that. Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m retarded. Like I told you, Marko’s different from the rest of us. He liked the Wilsons, though. No, I don’t think he would do that.“

I sit on the end of the sofa opposite Mia. She’s still staring at me with wide eyes.

”Penn, what the hell is going on?“

”I don’t know. I really don’t.“

”I mean, it’s been, what…three days? Three days, and how many people dead?“ She counts off the casualties on her fingers: ”Kate, Chris, the narc…three black guys. And now the Wilsons.“

”And that Catholic kid is still in intensive care.“

”Right, Mike Pinella. I mean, does anybody have any idea what’s going on?“

I shrug.

”What do you think? Seriously.“

”I think it’s a drug war. That’s the only explanation I can come up with.“

She nods slowly. ”Can Natchez cops handle a drug war?“

”That question’s moot. Tomorrow we’ll see federal involvement. At least the DEA, and maybe a task force. That’s what needs to happen. Some of the violence is coming from the Asian gangs on the Gulf Coast. The rest of it…I don’t know.“

Mia processes this in silence.

I lay my elbows on my knees, then turn and look hard into her eyes. ”You’ve seen Marko selling drugs to St. Stephen’s kids, haven’t you?“

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even blink. But then, very softly, she says, ”I feel so bad about that now. Like maybe I could have stopped some of this.“

”You couldn’t have. But you need to tell me the truth now. Have you seen Marko sell drugs on school property?“

She nods.

”Have you seen him hurt anybody? Physically, I mean.“

A deep breath, held in. ”No. I haven’t seen that.“