Laura McHugh - The Weight of Blood

“It’s a lot of product,” he said. “You know it’s worth more than a fuck.”

“You’ll change your mind when you see her,” Emory said. “Besides, it’s in your interest for us to develop a working relationship. There’s give and take, but you gotta consider the long term. What’s in it for you.”

Silence while Jamie pretended to think about it. “So how does this work?”

Emory laughed, a harsh scraping sound. “Don’t tell me you never had a whore, boy. I can see that’s a lie.”

Jamie, unruffled: “I just meant, do we trade up front? You take the stuff, and I take the girl to my place for a few hours?”

“Well, no.” Emory’s laugh dried up. “You’re not taking her anywhere. You come in and do your business, and I’ll be here, making sure you mind your manners.”

“How do I know I can trust you once I hand over my part and walk into that house? No offense, you understand. But I could be walking into a bullet.”

“Trust takes time, son, I get that. Trust’ll come from working together for our mutual benefit. But right now we both need what the other’s got. So what can I do to put you at ease and get this deal done?”

“I wanna see her,” Jamie said. “The girl. Bring her out so I know she’s really in there. That she’s everything you said.”

Emory groaned. Plainly, he wasn’t used to accommodating demands. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give you an eyeful. And you can give me a sample of your wares there. Insurance for both of us.”

I heard the door to the house open and close. Jamie stepped back and leaned against the car. “Get ready,” he murmured. The gun was nestled in his waistband at the small of his back, hidden by his shirt. I hadn’t gotten a look at Emory, but he surely had a weapon, too.

The door slammed again. Emory’s voice, off to the side: “I’ll help myself to that sample now. Go on and have your look.”

“Jesus,” Jamie muttered. “She even old enough for titties?”

I raised my head high enough to peer out the window, and there she was, behind the screen door, real and not real, Holly and not Holly. She swayed like a puppet on a string. I threw open the car door and sprinted toward the house.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” Emory howled, registering who I was.

If Holly was confused or scared or grateful when I yanked open the screen door, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes rolled, and she slumped against me as I reached for her, her body light and malleable. I locked my arms around her rib cage and pulled her out of the house. When I turned around, Emory stood in my way. Behind him, Jamie had drawn his gun, but he held it at his side, waiting to see what I would do.

“What the hell, little girl?” Emory said. “Crete know you’re out here?”

Wind gathered in the surrounding trees, shuffling the leaves and building into a low mournful keening. It swept over us with an unexpected chill. “I called the state troopers,” I lied. “You want to clear out, go now.”

His eyes narrowed, nearly hidden by tufted gray brows. “You wouldn’t turn in your own uncle.”

“Not without warning,” I said. “He’s already left town.” I didn’t know the strength of their bond, didn’t know if he’d believe his partner would turn on him to survive. With each passing moment, Crete drove closer. If his truck pulled into the driveway, everything would fall apart.

Emory’s arm sliced through the air and dealt a backhand smack to my face, his knuckles smashing into my cheekbone. My grip faltered, and Holly sagged to the ground, a pale puddle at my feet. Jamie lunged toward us, but Emory was already on the run, slowing down just enough to grab the box Jamie had brought and toss it into the van. He peeled out, heading for the compound at Caney Mountain, I guessed, or maybe straight out of town. I wondered how much time we had before he called my uncle.

We had to go. Jamie and I hustled Holly to the car and laid her in the backseat. Her lips moved as though speaking, but not in a voice we could hear. Likewise, her eyes flitted to things we couldn’t see. She was drugged, adrift, her hair sliding across her face like a veil.

“Shit,” Jamie hissed as we piled into the front seat. “She’s a fucking kid , for Christ’s sake!”

Lightning stripped the world of color in one vivid pop. If thunder followed, it was lost in the rev of the engine as Jamie launched us down the road. Rain pecked the windshield, slow at first, then relentless, a barrage of firecrackers. We rolled up the windows.

“She should see a doctor,” I said.

“We’ll take her to Birdie’s.”

“No.” There was a good chance Crete would find out what had happened from Emory, or that he’d piece things together on his own, and I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt when he came for me. “The hospital in Mountain Home.”

“We can’t take her there.” Panic edged into Jamie’s voice. “I can’t drive some drugged-up kid across state lines. What do you think’ll happen? What the fuck are you gonna say when we sign her in?”

He was right. “Take her to Sarah Cole’s, then. You know where she lives?”

He nodded, biting his lip. We bumped off the gravel onto the main road. The blacktop steamed in the rain. Headlights ghosted by, but I couldn’t make out the vehicle through the downpour. We watched the mirror nervously but saw no lights behind us.

“Drop me at my house,” I said. He shot me a confused glance but didn’t object. “I’ll meet you at Sarah’s as soon as I can. Just keep Holly safe.” I placed my hand on his arm. His biceps twitched, and he made a loose turn onto Toad Holler Road, the car skidding and correcting as he braked and regained speed.

Crete left a message for Carl, asking him to reconsider letting Lucy come back to work. He was sure he could wear his brother down, though it might require a bit of patience. He waited a few minutes past quitting time to see if Carl would call back, but he didn’t, so Crete locked up his office and let Judd know he was leaving. Rainclouds hung low as he left Dane’s, and thunder grumbled in the distance. He remembered how Mama used to say she could feel a storm coming. Her leg would ache along the seam where the bone had broken and knitted itself back together. She was right more often than not, but Crete suspected it was all an act. His nose had been broken twice, and after it healed, it never ached in any kind of weather.

He rubbed a finger over the twisted bridge of his nose, feeling hard knots of bone where it had fused back together. It had been that way for so long, he hardly recognized old pictures of himself where it was straight. He was twelve the first time it got broken, and it was all Mama’s fault. She had sat in the rocker in her bedroom for days, eating nothing but oyster crackers she lined up on the arm of the chair, using the toilet only when Daddy carried her across the hall. A bouquet of peonies browned on the dresser, petals dropping onto a doily and curling into themselves, and she did nothing except stare at those petals dropping, at the soft pile they made. Carl had taken sick, fever slicking his little body with sweat, and Daddy had driven him up the road for Birdie to take a look at, leaving Crete to keep an eye on Mama. She couldn’t be left home alone when she was having one of her spells. The year before, she had thrown herself out of an upstairs window and landed in a viburnum bush, breaking her leg. After that, Daddy had installed new screens and planted viburnums under every window to catch her if she jumped again.

Crete checked on his mother, who had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, and then he went to sit outside on the porch. The night was warm and breezy, perfect weather to roll his sleeping bag out in the yard. He liked sleeping outdoors, listening to the night sounds all around him. He wasn’t scared. Nothing outside bothered him, not even bugs, which rarely bit him. They didn’t like his flavor, Mama said. Crete worried she was right, that something in his blood was bad. The bugs smelled it and stayed away.