Scott Pratt - In good faith

“Stay safe,” I said as she stepped out of the truck.

She turned and gave me a mournful look.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to see if I can arrange police protection for you?”

“No. It’s not me I’m worried about. You’re a good man, Mr. Dillard. I just hope I see you again.”

Monday, November 10

Levi Barnett pondered his bloody hands as he rode silently in the back of the transport van towards the juvenile detention center. He was looking at the blood of a traitor, the blood of a coward. Sam Boyer wouldn’t be making the trip to the other side. He’d sold himself out to the laws of man, and Levi had made him pay the price.

The pathetic cops had forced him to sit there for almost three hours while they took their photographs and their blood samples. The big cop who’d arrested Levi at the motel and then tried to interrogate him had shown up and scraped some of the blood off of Levi’s hands. He’d tried again to interrogate Levi, but Levi told him to go fuck himself.

Levi spit on the floor as he thought of the scrawny little baldheaded dude sitting in the corner of the cell. Didn’t offer to help Sam, didn’t say a word, didn’t make a move. All he did was watch and scream like a little girl.

He knew Natasha would be pleased. She’d come to visit him at the juvenile detention center three days earlier. The guards there were so fucking stupid. All Levi had to do was put her on his visitors list. When she arrived, they led Levi to a visiting room and left the two of them alone for an hour. Levi knew the guards were watching on video, but they couldn’t hear a thing. Natasha had laid out her plan, and Levi had executed the first step to perfection. All that was left was for him to complete the second step, and Natasha would take care of the third.

Levi lifted his hands over his head and stretched. Even though he’d just committed a murder, the transport deputy hadn’t cuffed him in back or put a waist chain on him. The policy at the juvenile detention center was that all prisoners going to court were to be cuffed in front. Another deputy was along for the ride as extra security, but as long as Levi’s hands were in front of him, he could do what he needed to do.

The van pulled up in front of the detention center, and Levi looked out at the dull-yellow concrete-block building. It was a single story, with four-inch openings for windows and an exercise area that was surrounded by chain link and concertina wire and just a little bigger than his cell. What little food Levi had eaten tasted like plastic, and the guards, like the other inmates, were all morons. None of them were armed, and Levi mused briefly about what it would be like to walk in with a weapon and slaughter every last one of them.

But old man Finney was armed, as was the extra deputy. Both carried stainless-steel. 357 Magnum revolvers in holsters on their hips. Old man Finney was the transport deputy the sheriff’s department assigned to the juvenile detention center. Every time someone from the detention center needed a ride to court or got hauled off to a juvie home downstate, Finney came and picked them up. Levi couldn’t stand the old hypocrite. He wore bifocal glasses with black rims and always had his stupid sheriff’s hat on. He called people by their first name and tried to make them think he was their friend. Some fucking friend. Take you to court, where you have to sit and listen to some blueblood judge run his mouth, and then take you straight back to jail.

Levi waited for the door to open. Finney reached in and started fumbling with the lock that secured the chain through the steel ring on the floor while the other deputy, a young, pasty-looking dude with a buzz cut and acne scars whom Levi had never seen before, stood back and chewed on a toothpick. As soon as Levi saw Finney get the lock released and start pulling the chain, he raised both arms over his head and came down hard on the back of Finney’s neck. The old man grunted. His bifocals flew off of his face and his hat went rolling towards the front of the van. Levi wrenched the revolver from its holster and pointed it at the pasty guard, who was fumbling with his own holster. The guard’s mouth was open, and Levi saw the familiar look of fear in his eyes. Before the guard could get a firm grip on the revolver, Levi blew a hole through his throat.

Levi turned back towards the van and stood there watching as old man Finney fumbled around trying to find his glasses. When his fingers finally clutched them, he pushed them onto his nose and rolled slowly over onto his back.

“Levi, what are you going to do?” Finney said.

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Levi said as he raised the revolver and pointed it at Finney’s forehead.

“Levi, please. I’ve never mistreated you.”

“You don’t want to stay in this world. It’s full of bad people. Think of it as a favor.”

“No, Levi, please. I have a family. They need me.” Finney raised his hands in front of his face. “Levi! I’ve tried to be your friend! ”

Levi pulled the trigger and watched curiously as a chunk of Finney’s forehead separated from his face and splattered against the interior wall of the van. Finney’s body jerked once and then he was still.

“Yeah, I was thinking about that a little earlier,” Levi said. “Some fucking friend.”

Levi closed the door. He saw his reflection in the mirrored glass window. As he looked at himself, he thought about how far he’d come. Not long ago, he’d been a nobody, a poor boy with no education and no future. But all that had changed with Natasha. She’d taught him the ways of Satan, and now he was a celebrity. Everyone knew his name. Everyone feared him. He even received fan mail in jail.

Levi looked down at the fallen guard. A soft, gurgling sound was coming from the wound in his throat. Levi thought about putting another bullet in his head to finish him off, but instead he looked towards the building. He could see people looking out the windows. A guard ran up and locked the front door while talking on a cell phone. They’d be coming soon.

Levi raised his middle finger defiantly towards those who were peering out at him. Fuck them. There would be no prison for Levi, not now, not ever. Soon he and Natasha would walk together with Satan.

“Fuck all you motherfuckers!” Levi shouted. “Fuck the world!”

He fired one shot at the building, then slowly pushed the barrel up tight beneath his chin.

And pulled the trigger.

Monday, November 10

After I took Alisha back to Johnson City, I drove home to check on Caroline. She was sleeping, but Melinda said she still had a fever. I drove back to Jonesborough, finished up some work on my other cases, and went to lunch alone. When I returned, Fraley was sitting in a chair in front of my desk with his feet up. He was smoking a cigarette and putting the ashes in a coffee cup.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in this building, big boy,” I said. “If Mooney smells it, he’ll call the police and have you arrested.”

“If he calls the police, I’ll crush his skull like a peanut shell,” Fraley said, taking another long drag.

“Some morning, huh?” I said.

Fraley blew a smoke ring. “You haven’t heard, have you?”

“Heard what?”

“About Barnett. He overpowered Deputy Finney in the back of the transport van, got ahold of his weapon, and shot himself in the head.”

I felt my knees weaken and sat down behind the desk.

“He’s dead?”

“Dead as Elvis. It was a. 357 Magnum. In under the chin and out the top of his skull. The bullet took a bunch of his brain with it, what little he had.”

I ran my fingers through my hair, still unable to completely digest what I’d just heard.

“Is Finney…?”