The Backwoods

“You think he wants us to do like he was talkin’ the other day?” Junior asked.

“Hope so. Been a pretty borin’summer. Somethin’ to jazz it up’d be just fine.”

Junior picked his ear. “Oh, yeah, that’d jazz it up, all right.”

Ricky’s eyes scanned the crowd. “Lotta Squatters here. Shit, ain’t that a laugh. Dwayne hated the Squatters.”

“Yeah, but they practically worship Judy. Only reason they got work is ‘cos of her.”

“You really think it was Squatters who kilt Dwayne? That’s the story.”

Junior’s chubby face pulled into a smirk of doubt. “Naw. One a’ the construction crew’s what I heard. Dwayne was fuckin’ the dude’s girlfriend, so the dude showed him what trouble really was.”

Now Ricky was squinting. “Check out the trim standin’ in front of Ernie. I swear I seen her before.”

Junior squinted too. “Never seen her before, and I’d remember a rack like that. Fuck. She got a pair a’ milk wagons or what?”

“Oh, now I remember!” Ricky cited with some whispered enthusiasm. “That’s Judy’s sister. She moved to the city a long time ago, married some rich, fat fella. Don’t’cha remember? Patricia’s her name. She was the biggest talk a’ Agan’s Point ’bout twenty-five years ago.”

Junior crudely calculated in his head. “Twenty-five years ago? Shit, I’se pretty sure I was doin’ my last stint in juvie hall.” .

“Yeah, yeah, I remember tellin’ ya ‘bout it when I come to visit ya.” Ricky’s face turned up in a big pumpkin grin. “She’s the chick who got raped out at Bowen’s Field. Weren’t but fifteen or sixteen. She was skinny-dippin’ by herself one night at the pond and someone hauled her out and put the blocks to her right there in the dirt. Staked her to the fuckin’ ground, too, while he was doin’ her.”

Junior popped a brow. “Shit, brother, don’t’cha be talkin’ like that. You’re gettin’ my willy jumpin’.” Then he shot his brother a suspicious glance. “Bet it was you who raped her and you just ain’t tellin’.”

“Naw, boy, if I’d ever carved me a piece of box that fine, you’d be the first I’d tell.” Ricky rubbed his hands together, still staring at the attractive redhead. “I’d be proud to have a cutie like that screamin’ under me. . . .”

The highly intellectualized discussion faded now, as Judy was finished dispersing her husband’s ashes.

Father Darren, ever smiling, spread his hands to them all and said, “‘I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shalt stand at the latter day upon the earth.’ Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord!”

The congregation’s reply strayed across the field: “Amen.”

“It’s about time,” Junior said. “I’m tired a’ standin’ around.”

Ricky’s eyes roamed the crowd as a line formed, townsfolk waiting to convey their condolences to Judy. “Where is he?”

“Here they come. Shit. Sutter’s coming too.”

Sutter and Trey approached the two brothers, neither looking happy. “What’ choo boys doin’ here?” Chief Sutter demanded.

The brothers shrugged. “Just payin’ our last respects to Dwayne,” Junior told him.

“You boys didn’t give a shit about Dwayne,” Trey said, standing right up to them.

Ricky frowned. “We knew Dwayne, all right. Didn’t always get along, but now that he’s dead . . . like my brother said, it’s only right fer us to pay some respect.”

“Bullshit,” the chief said. “You’re about the two biggest lowlifes in all of Agan’s Point—”

“You ain’t got no right to say that!” Junior said back.

'—and neither of ya got any respect for no one. I told you two last time after Harriet Farmer got all that jewelry stole out of her house—I don’t wanna even see either of you nowheres around me. You see me walkin’ down the street, you turn around and walk the other way.”

Ricky glared back. “We didn’t have nothin’ to with that break-in, Chief,” he lied, “and it ain’t proper for you to hassle us just ‘cos you don’t like us.”

“You guys busted into that old lady’s house and ya know it,” Trey told them, jabbing a finger hard against Ricky’s chest. “Oh, you don’t like me pokin’ ya? Do something about it.”

Ricky’s eyes lowered, and under his breath he said, “This is bullshit.”

Next, Chief Sutter bellied right up into his face. “And I know it was you two peepin’ on the Chester girls and their babysitter. Truck just like yours was seen leavin’ the street. What a pair a’ scumbags.”

Now Junior tried to get right back in Sutter’s face. “We didn’t peep on nobody,” he lied just as well as his brother. In fact, they’d been doing the same since adolescence. Junior’s voice increased in volume. “And that’s downright shitty a’ you to say we’d do somethin’ like that. The Chester girls ain’t even in high school yet.”

“That’s what I mean,” the chief countered, and then he jabbed a hard finger. “And you better keep your lyin’ voice down, ‘cos if you disturb this service with your bullshit, I’m kickin’ both your asses.”

Junior’s face began to twitch, as it often did when he was riled. But was he stupid enough to assault the chief of police?

Junior opened his hand, prepared to give Sutter a good, hard shove.

Trey jumped in front of him, pushing him back. Even Ricky, the slightly wiser one, grabbed his brother by the arm to stave off the blow.

'Forget it, Junior,” he ordered. “Don’t give ’em an excuse to bust us.”

Trey kept pushing Junior away from the chief. “Grow a brain for a change and listen to your brother, you asswipe.” He leveled his gaze on both of them. “Get your deadbeat asses out of here while you still can. We will not allow a scene here. You fuck this up for Judy, me ’n’ the chief are gonna fuck you boys up but good.”

Junior’s eyes were red with rage. He shook off his brother’s hand, then turned and stalked off. Ricky followed him.

When they were back at the road where everyone had parked, Ricky slapped Junior’s shoulder. “Shit, man! I thought you were really gonna shove Sutter!”

“Damn well had a mind to. I’d love to roust that fat fuck.”

“So’d Trey slip ya the contact?”

Junior reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “Fucker should be a pickpocket. Slippery, ya know? I didn’t even feel it.” He slipped out a small piece of paper.

The paper read: The Hilds. Tonight. Glove compartment.

“Hmm,” Junior said.

They both lumbered to their pickup truck, a dented hulk. Ricky excitedly flung open the door, then popped down the door to the glove box.

“The man came through!”

Junior eyed the contents of the envelope. “Yeah, and he ain’t foolin’ around.”

A thousand dollars in cash filled the envelope.

(II)

Later, the house sprawled with friends, neighbors, and other well-wishers. This is definitely a Southern-style funeral reception, Patricia observed. The gathering began quietly but soon unwound into something close to a party. Local women had all brought food—cakes, salads, cold cuts—but it didn’t take long before the banquet table took a backseat to alcohol. This is how they do it. . . . Younger Squatter women silently aided Ernie in dispensing the drinks, yet Patricia didn’t see any of the Squatters actually drinking themselves. Oh, that’s right, she remembered. They’re teetotalers. Just about everyone else, though, was proving the opposite.

But Patricia was surprised by how well composed her sister remained during the service. There were tears, of course, but nothing close to the breakdown Patricia foresaw. Again, it seemed that Patricia’s mere presence was her sister’s main source of comfort.

As late afternoon became evening, Patricia began to feel more at ease herself. At first she’d felt a bit like an outcast in this crowd of seeming strangers, but eventually many of the faces sparked her memories of when she’d last lived here; she was greeted cordially time and time again, even by some whom she didn’t remember until names were mentioned. The entirety of the affair was rich with sentimental talk, like, “Dwayne surely will be