Earl looked skeptical.
“Son, I’ve got no interest in seeing you over-pay for your foolishness. Call me once you’ve talked to your lawyer.”
Jimmy got up and walked back to his office, re-filling the cup of the drunk in cell four along the way. Sitting back down, he looked at the phone number from the State’s Attorney again. He dialed.
CHAPTER FIVE
TERRY
First light was not the gentle pinkish thing Terry remembered from fishing trips as a kid. The metal bed of the truck seemed to ignite instantly with the first touch of sun and the ringing in his ears could’ve been bullfrogs, beer or blitzkrieg.
When he turned over she was sleeping, curled around her own knees, backside to him. Terry sat up careful not to wake her or further stir the hornets newly nested in his head. He found his pants bunched around his ankles and pulled them up past his knees and over the great general stickiness further north.
Careful as he was, the scrape of the belt buckle on the floor of the truck woke the girl who turned over and looked into his face, not horrified, or angry, but - and it could have been the effects of sleep, alcohol or embarrassment - red faced.
“Breakfast,” she said.
“Thinking so.”
He reached down to help her up and they climbed into the cab and rolled the windows down. The radio low and the breeze created by motion considerably soothed the ruckus inside Terry’s skull.
At a station break, Terry flipped the radio off. “Why haven’t I seen you around before?”
“I don’t really live here anymore. Been away at school three years now and I don’t come back for breaks except this one.”
“I don’t blame you. Why come back for this one?”
She shrugged. “Seemed about time. I’m graduating soon and then moving away. Kinda wanted to see this place one more time.”
“You grew up here?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Me too.” Terry pulled in to the Come Back Again diner and the girl snorted. “What?” said Terry, “Thought you wanted breakfast.”
“I do. Just haven’t seen this place in a long time. My dad used to bring me here when I was a kid. Etta Sanderson still run the show?”
“Think so.”
She opened the door and hopped out. “Well let’s go say ‘hey.’”
The diner wasn’t quite bustling, but it would be soon. He grabbed a booth while she went to the bathroom. Terry fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up. His lips were dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper when he tried to wet them, but he got the nail secured and lit. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the nicotine shiver that slid slowly from his brain. When it reached his fingertips, he opened them and found the menu. He sensed the waitress approach and turned over his coffee cup.
She filled it and turned over the other cup without asking. Then she said, “You know what you want?”
“Always changing.”
“I’ll give you just a minute.” She started to walk away, but turned back and, like an afterthought, asked, “Was that Eileen Mondale came in with you?”
Terry looked up at her. “Huh?”
The waitress, a weathered old gal with a reservoir of sex she kept full, smiled, but looked concerned. “The girl you came in with. Looked like one of the Mondale girls, but I haven’t seen her for years.” A tingle completely separate from the cigarette began to stir in him. “Is that her? Is that the sheriff’s daughter?”
Terry smiled when he saw the girl emerge from the bathroom, face splashed and scrubbed. He studied her closely and thought there was something familiar around her eyes. It was a cold thing he’d seen before. In her father. His mouth parted into a grin so wide it threatened to split his poor lips. “I surely do hope so.”
CHOWDER
Chowder pulled into the gravel lot of the Come Back Again diner and shut his door quietly. It was closing in on eight in the morning and the place was bustling. Etta Sanderson pointed him toward an empty booth not yet bussed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Chowder muttered, but he liked the old broad. A few heads turned as he ambled down the narrow walk way and he got a couple quick nods that turned away again as soon as he met their gaze before turning to fall gingerly into the booth then twisting and bringing his legs underneath the table.
A few seconds later, Etta was clearing the mess from the previous diners and pouring coffee at the same time. “Want me to leave the paper, Chowder?”
“Hell no.”
“Know what you want?”
“Just some taters.”
She had spritzed the table with bleach water and he held the coffee close to his face to mask the scent. He scalded his tongue with the first sip, then set it down and began to work the knots out of his neck with his fingers.
“Mornin’ Sheriff.” He heard Etta say two seconds after leaving his breakfast potatoes beside his coffee.
“Mornin’ Etta. Just a coffee please.”
Chowder looked toward the front where Jimmy Mondale was standing tall and rigid like he was getting his picture took. The sheriff looked around the room that way that cops do. Seeming casual, but not missing anything. When Jimmy spotted Chowder he made his way down to his booth.
“Mornin Chowder.”
“Hey, Sheriff.”
“Is that Irm sleeping in your truck?”
“Probably.”
“You two go fishing?”
“Something like that.”
“Here you go, Sheriff.” Etta placed a Styrofoam cup on the end of the counter and Jimmy reached over for it. “Say, it’s nice to see Eileen back in town.”
“Is it?”
“When did she get back?”
“Got me, I haven’t seen her yet.”
“Well she looks good. Was with a fella, though.” Etta rolled her eyes, “You tell her for me - she could do better.”
“Thanks, Etta. Keep the change.” Jimmy sat down at Chowder’s booth.
“Everything go okay?”
Chowder nodded.
“Memphis is still in Tennessee?”
“Some of it’s in Kentucky.”
“There’s a situation come up, concerns you.”
Chowder popped some breakfast potatoes in his mouth and packed them into his cheek like hot savory chaw. He sucked the salt out before swallowing the starchy wad and steeled himself for this latest development with a swig of coffee. “What kind of situation?” Mondale gave Chowder an extra moment to prepare, which only made the big man irritated. “Spit it out.”
“Assistant State’s Attorney.”
Chowder’s grip on the coffee mug constricted until the handle came off in his fingers. A redness peeked up over the line of his beard until it touched his eyes. “What about him?” he said, holding his breath.
“Got a bug up his ass. Says he’s got an informant.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’ll be receiving him this week. In fact, I shouldn’t be seen talking with you long.”
Chowder dropped the broken china handle on the table before it was reduced to dust in his grip.
Jimmy eased his posture a little. “I’m working on it. Let’s go fishing tomorrow. Talk about it then. Just thought you oughtta know up front.” He stood back up and knocked on the Formica tabletop. He strolled toward the door and held it open for Irm, who looked her usual sunshiny self. Jimmy smiled at her and Chowder read Irm’s lips from across the room.
Lick my cunt.
Outside, the sheriff glad-handed a couple of citizens in the parking lot, shooting the shit about weather, high school sports, wives and kids. Chowder looked around the diner at the customers, thinking how much damage he could do taking a fall. Mondale had to be nervous. Their fates were intertwined. His precious little community would crucify him if they knew what kinds of things their bland and easy-going Sheriff Mondale was up to, running dope and whores, killing off the competition. Chowder and the sheriff had consolidated and regulated all the narcotics traffic in Hamilton County over the past ten years and it had not been done with a kind word. Ask Bug. The price of keeping independent was one they had and would continue to pay together. The lawman had to be making his BVDs damp at the thought of some loud-mouth speaking to a State’s Attorney. He had as much to lose as Chowder did. Yeah, he was nervous.
Through the window, he watched Mondale climb into his cruiser and smile at some Christian folk pulling in for breakfast. Chowder admired the sheriff’s cool as he gripped his mangled coffee mug and took a sip.
Irm was wiping the corners of her mouth with her palm when she sat down opposite him. Her face was still smudged black in spots and the burnt ends of her hair stood straight up like tiny antennas on her head. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You’re grumpy when you wake up.”
“Fuck you. You talk to the sheriff?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t like it. You can’t trust the police.”
Chowder leveled his eyes at his daughter’s until she looked away. “You trust me?”
Irm just nodded.
“Then shut the fuck up.”
She scowled and picked up a menu.
Chowder pushed his plate toward her. “Have some taters.”
CHAPTER SIX
MONDALE
“Hello?”
“Hey Shirl, it’s me.”
“Jim, what is it?”
“It’s about ‘Leen.”
“Oh my god, what is it, Jimmy?”
“Relax, she’s in town.”
“Jesus, Jim, don’t ever start a sentence that way. I thought –”
“I know, I’m sorry, just thought you’d want to know as soon as I did.”
“She’s staying with you?”
“No, I haven’t seen her, but Etta Sanderson spotted her at the diner.”
“That child.”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for calling, Jim. If you see her, tell her…”
“Will do.” Jimmy hung up the phone and turned on the light to see his daughter better. She sat on his couch flipping the channels on his television and drinking his beer.
“Hi, Daddy. I brought the car back.”
The night before, he’d come home to find his civilian car gone. After Etta Sanderson mentioned seeing her earlier, Eileen, as the thief, made sense. “Hey, hon.” He walked behind her, bent over the couch and kissed the top of her head. It smelled like patchouli and cigarettes. “When’d you get to town?”
“Couple days ago. Was that mom on the phone?”
“Said she’d been expecting you.”
“Huh. You talked to Etta?”
“Most days. You know, if she hadn’t told me she’d seen you, I would’ve put out an APB on my car.”
“Sorry. I needed to borrow it. She’s the best.”
Jimmy went to his bedroom and began to undress. He called to the next room. “You know I don’t mind you borrowing it, but I need a heads-up next time.”
“Sorry, I just figured you had the other, too. Filled the tank before I brought it back.”
“How long you fixin to stay?”
“I just came by to say ‘hey.’ I’m staying with a friend.”
“Etta said you had a boy with you.”
“Maybe, but that’s not my friend.”
“Oh? Who is he?” He was down to his shorts and white t-shirt and picking up his socks from the bedroom floor to deposit in a pile in the bathroom when she came to the door.
“Nice try. Nobody. I’m staying with Julie Sykes.”
“From school?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothin, I just didn’t think you kept up with anybody from school.”
“I don’t. I just ran into her and she said I could stay over.”
“Huh. What’s she up to these days?”
Eileen shrugged. “She teaches school. I’m going back tomorrow. Figured I’d come see you.”
“Lemme get cleaned up, we’ll grab some dinner.” Jimmy shut the bathroom door and stripped. He turned on the shower and placed his face into the stream as quickly as possible. He wasn’t crying. Not even close.
Eileen sat across from him in the booth just like she’d done as a young girl when he’d treat her and her sister to milkshakes after a movie or a ride in his cruiser. She sat there looking, for all the world, like her mother and his own flesh, but also something alien. Something he couldn’t begin to guess at. He wondered at her.
She pushed up the sleeves of her shirt and he caught sight of a tattoo on the underside of her forearm. She caught him staring and pushed the sleeve up all the way so he could see it clearly. Some kind of twisting of wire or vine or some such neo-pagan imagery.
“Like it?”
“No.”
She pretended to be hurt. “You probably wouldn’t like the rest either.”
Mondale smiled into his drink. He wouldn’t take the bait that easy. “Think about calling your mom?”
“Not really.”
“She’s concerned, you know.”
Eileen shrugged, then produced a cigarette. She placed it between her lips, and, as an afterthought, offered the pack to her father.
He hesitated, then reached to take one. Share what you can with your daughter
,
he reasoned. She lit his and then her own and they both pushed their plates toward the middle of the table and regarded each other while tasting the first of their after-dinner smokes.
Etta Sanderson cleared their plates and Eileen called out for her to join them. Etta glanced over her shoulder and said she would in a minute. “How about Elizabeth? Talked to her lately?”
Eileen nodded, exhaling a blue plume, “Yeah, Liz is good. I can’t believe I’m going to be an auntie. I’m gonna teach that kid so many bad habits.” They both smiled and Mondale left his cigarette in the ashtray as Etta returned and sat down next to him across from Eileen. Etta reached for his cigarette, took a quick drag, replaced it and grabbed Eileen’s hand.
“You ready to go back, girl?”
“Uh-huh. Study, study, study.”
“Oh, it makes me so happy to see you doing good. Honey, you make sure to call your momma too. She’ll want to talk to you.” Eileen smiled sadly at Etta. “I know how it is with mothers. And daughters. And granddaughters. You know Cyndi’s about to have her first?”
Eileen lit up and squeezed Etta’s hand. “Really? That’s great. You’re going to be a great-grandmother, that’s so sweet.”
Etta recoiled playfully. “Don’t go calling me great grandmamma. No call for that.” Etta stood and so did Eileen. They hugged and Etta returned to her shift. Eileen watched the woman work.
“Any thoughts about what you’ll do after graduating?”
Eileen looked at her father again. “Not really.”
Mondale reached for the smoldering cigarette in the ashtray. He knocked the ash loose and took a drag. “Ever think of coming back here?”
Eileen gave a low snort. “No.”
“I could get you some work down at the station.”
“Are you serious? You think I wanna monitor a radio or make sandwiches for prisoners? Really?”
Mondale’s turn to shrug. “It’s a thought. It’s a job. Might give you some perspective, some space to make your next move from.”
“No offense, Dad, but that kinda sounds like hell.”
“Think about it.” He ground out the cigarette and reached for the check. “I’ll leave the offer on the table.”
He brought Eileen back to his house and they sat on the front porch, lighting another pair of cigarettes. The dark was thick, as was the sound of nocturnal communities of the wild. Eileen said she had to pee and went inside, leaving him alone. He took a deep drag and hit that light-headed spot he was looking for. He sat absolutely motionless and thoughtless till she returned three minutes later, cracking the seal on a fifth of bourbon. She handed him a coffee mug and filled it to the top before doing the same to her own.
He sipped at it, grimaced to let the liquid shoot to the back of his gums and sting before swallowing. He’d quit smoking years ago for reasons he was having a hard time recalling, and the mixture of alcohol and nicotine was potent, though he was guarded against it in the presence of his child.
“What happened to you, Dad?”
He wasn’t sure she’d actually spoken for a moment. “What do you mean?” He didn’t think he was up for this.
“I mean, when did you get so sad?”
He choked on his drink. “That how you see me?”
“That’s how you are.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that.” He coughed again, and reached for a new cigarette. “But maybe just having you around is reminding me of sad things.” He waited for a response, but none came. “Like maybe I miss having a family.”
“You really hit mom?”
He nodded. “She tell you that?”
Eileen shook her head. “Didn’t see it coming?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. At the time, I would’ve said ‘no,’ but now…” The thought faded and nobody tried to revive it. After some silence he turned to face her. He smiled. “I’m glad you came to see me. I miss you and your sister.” She tried to smile back, but it was a discouraging sight so he looked away toward the tree line. “And your mother. I miss her too.”
The dark shapes of the trees sure were interesting. “I know I wasn’t much good at it, but I enjoyed being a father like you wouldn’t believe.”
Eileen coughed and smiled. “Yeah, maybe I don’t believe it.” She killed her drink and poured another. “But what do I know?”
“So what about you, then?”
“What happened to me?”
He nodded.
“Let’s pretend I don’t know what you mean. You’re going to have to say it.”
“Alright. When did my sweet, bright little girl…” Her face stiffened into half-defiance, half-provocation that way that young children’s and teenagers’ do. That look that says they hate you for pushing so far into them and that they want you to do it all the same. He knew he wasn’t up to it. He looked away again into the night. “Never mind.”
A pair of headlights cut through the yard and aimed at the house. Jimmy shaded his eyes as the car pulled into his driveway. He was aware of Eileen’s unwavering gaze on the back of his head and when the headlights died, he turned to look at his girl. Her eyes were wet just a little, but the rest of her had hardened and set. She collected her cigarettes and their cups. Rising to go inside, under her breath she said, “Fuck you.”
The car door opened as the screen door closed and a young woman Eileen’s age, Julie he guessed, got out. “Sheriff Mondale,” she greeted him.
“That you, Julie?”
“Yeah, it’s been a long time.”
“Sure has.” He was trying to recall her face from the past. All those school-girls had been the same. None so special or noticeable as his own. But now that he looked close, he thought he did remember the way her nose pointed to the right and the lopsided quality it gave her face. Especially when she smiled. Yeah, Julie, she was a cutie, he had to admit.
Eileen came back out of the house with a bag of laundry she’d done while he was at work. She kissed her fingertips and touched the back of his head as she walked by him. “See ya, dad.” She passed her friend and climbed into the passenger’s side of the waiting car.
Julie smiled at him and waved. A dimple appeared in her right cheek and the tilting of her head toward the side with all the distinguishing features made it seem all the weight inside her head had shifted over there. “Good to see you again, Jimmy.”
He smiled back at her and said, “You too, sweetheart.” As the girls drove away he felt a pinch of a disturbing nature in his belly. The way she’d looked at him and the easy, familiar way she’d spoken to him was pleasing, he couldn’t deny.
“Jimmy, huh?” he addressed himself, “You’re a dirty old man.”
TERRY
Terry had done thirty days in County once for a collection of unpaid fines. He figured it was easier to do the time than pay the money. He spent it reading the funny pages, playing hoops and doing lots of push-ups. There was a Mex named Estrada sharing his cell. Terry called him Ponch. Ponch wrote letters non-stop.
“I knew Mex’s had lots of kids, but damn, how much family you got, Ponch?”
His celly shrugged. “This is no family correspondence. I’m a published writer.”
“The fuck out.”
“No shit,
gringo
. You’ve probably read some of my work before.”
“I look like a reader to you?”
Estrada marked off his accomplishments on the fingers of his right hand. “I’ve been published in
Leg Show, Swank, Black Tail
and even
The Forum.
”
“
Penthouse?”
“
Hot Talk
too. You wanna shake my hand now,
pendejo
?”
Terry was fascinated and urged him to recount each published letter he could remember. Over the next few weeks, Terry and Estrada wrote sixteen letters collaboratively including one eventually placed in an erotic anthology with stories that featured non-traditional participants. Their piece was a first-person account of a teenaged blonde with more natural sex-drive than the men in her town seemed capable of handling. She’d taken a journey across the country from Tucson to Tallahassee, to find fulfillment in the hands and at the feet of other erotic sojourners including a family of midgets and blind co-joined twins. Ponch told him that the American prison system was full of writers like himself and that the Russians didn’t have a corner on the incarcerated author market. Terry had entertained the idea of continuing to write when he was released, but found that the discipline was beyond him.
How had the sheriff, walking around with the broom snapped off up his butt, wound up with such wild offspring? Terry had his suspicions that he was merely playing a role in a carefully constructed
‘
get fucked
’
lifestyle that she would flaunt anytime the old man tried to have sway in her life, but far from minding, he marveled at the symmetry that their independent plans were so intertwined and reliant upon the other suddenly.