Tom Piccirilli: November Mourns

A soft chortle floated from Jake, the kind of murmur he gave when his lips were pressed to a girl’s throat. “I’m surprised the Chamber of Commerce didn’t throw you a parade.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re near a hero in these parts, you know.”

Sure, except that nobody ever visited him, and only Elfie wrote. Three letters, in the beginning, until it got too rough on the both of them.

“If you’re gonna kick the snot out of somebody,” Jake said, “make certain it’s a piece of shit like Zeke Hester. You were right about that. Reverend Dudlow did a nice bit of preaching on your behalf too, gave the rallying cry down by the river, took up the cause. He likes when folks smack hell out of miscreants.” Voice dropping to a whisper, but still loud enough for Becka to hear. “Gives him hope that he might beat up his wife one day and they’d praise him in the pulpit for it.”

Nothing ever changed, except Mags was dead. Shad had to keep reminding himself, and the rage would surge through him for a moment, get his heart rate up, as he readied himself for what had to come.

“Anyway, don’t be shocked if people start clapping you on the back.”

It would never happen but Jake made the scene sound almost possible. His brand of sleekness would’ve gotten him through ten years of prison without a scratch, then killed him half an hour before they let him out.

“My old man told everybody the story, that’s why,” Shad said, suddenly wanting to speak with his father. “I think he was sort of proud to have a con in the family. Made him feel righteous for a while. He needed that more than anything.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

“No.”

Jake nodded, scanning the crowd, searching for anybody who might get a kick out of seeing Shad again after all this time. A delicate tension hovered between them. Jake wanted to give his condolences but was unsure how to actually get around to it, or how Shad would react.

It was going to be like this with everybody in town, Shad realized.

Jake’s gaze landed on Elfie, over there on the other side of the burning stacks of timber, barely visible through the fire, but he said nothing. Shad waited, anticipating a bit more, but maybe he was expecting too much as usual.

“You staying with your pa while you’re back?”

“No,” Shad said. “Over at Mrs. Rhyerson’s boardinghouse.”

“Christ, she’s still alive?” Jake let out that laugh again, hissy and honeyed. It could get on your nerves after a while if you let it. “I thought she’d be long gone by now. You must be her only boarder. Where’s your car?”

“In town.”

“Still got the ’Stang?”

“Yes,” Shad told him, knowing what was coming next. “Sat in the garage behind Tub Gattling’s used auto parts the whole time I was away, but Tub kept it charged and shined.”

“You bought it from him, didn’t you? After them other guys died in it, hands on the wheel?”

“Yes.”

“Must’ve made Tub feel like one of his babies had come back to him for warmth and a little tenderness. He loves getting his hands back on the cars he’s tuned so fine and let out into the world.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

Jake’s stance shifted, his legs set wider apart, shoulders dropping, leaning forward to tell secrets. You learned to look for the subtle body language. “There’s still good money to be made in hauling whiskey, if you want to build up a stake to help get you back on your feet. Luppy’s always on the lookout for someone who knows the back roads and trails and isn’t afraid to jump a crumbling trestle bridge.”

Shad took a sip of the thin, watery beer and couldn’t figure out why he’d wanted one so badly for the last two years. “I’ve been out of prison for two days, you looking to send me right back?”

“I know you’ve mostly kept clear of running moon, but just in case you needed some quick cash. Something to consider. I don’t see the ’Stang. Who brought you up here?”

“I walked.”

“That’s near two miles back to Main Street.”

“Needed the exercise.”

It was true, in a way. He wanted to become part of the hollow again, even if he hated it.

The lines of Jake’s confident face softened again for a second. He searched Shad’s eyes and didn’t like what he found there. His teeth lost some of their shine and the hip hair sagged. He backed off a couple of feet and tried to let his cool slip over him once more, until he was grinning.

Even so, Shad’s stomach tightened, the breeze on his neck wafting by like a girlish hand. You could put some things away and they’d only show up when you were ready to take them out again. Others you had a touch more trouble grabbing hold of and locking down. He’d done okay in the can, but already the hollow was beginning to shake him loose inside.

It didn’t take anything much. Just the mounting realization, as he watched them and they watched him, that the embrace of the familiar he’d been hoping for was not coming. He could feel the turning of the world around him, the way a boy does when his voice changes and life draws him across the boundary of manhood. That you’re moving from one place to another, and no matter how much you want to go back, you can never return.

Part of Jake’s poise was taking things slow, backing off when the mood changed. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. “You deserve it. Go catch up.”

“Nobody’s come over yet.”

“They’re scared.”

“Why? I thought I was near a hero in these parts.”

Hearing his words flung back at him got Jake grinning again, though he stared at his feet. “Only time anybody’s done federal time is ’cause of running moon. You’re the first to go away for almost murdering one of their own. Miscreant though Zeke Hester may be. They’re afraid of stepping up on you wrong. They’re drunk. And excited. They think you’re going to kill somebody.”

“Do they want me to?”

“I reckon so. It’ll break up their day pretty good. But they won’t be inviting you over for boysenberry pie for a while.” Jake started to drift off. “Still, these people are your friends, don’t forget that. Go have yourself some fun, I’ll catch up with you later.”

A few of them were his friends, and none of them close, but Shad nodded, took another swig, and watched Jake edge in among the others.

He waited for their approach but nobody did. Some of the guys he’d spent most of his life with did little more than cast uncomfortable glances in his direction and tramp off the opposite way. He could understand the discomfort he caused now that he’d become peculiar in a fashion, a curiosity.

Jail was nothing new to them, but a stint upstate was. Maybe they also decided he’d been talking to the feds and spilling the names of moon makers. That he’d been gone for two years and nobody back home had been busted didn’t make much of an impression. It gave their lives a little more definition, thinking that the government was coming after them for tax money on homemade liquor. A lot of them still picked up only three channels with the rabbit ears on their television sets.

He could see it in their eager eyes, imagining how he’d been taking it in the ass from his cellmate for the last couple years, or spending all of his time sharpening scrap metal in the tool shop and cutting throats in the shower stalls.

That was all right. You could make peace with anything so long as you had one spot, no matter how small, that nobody could touch.

Shad turned and spotted Elfie Danforth coming at him around the flames, shadows of the others weaving against her. They were spitting moon into the fire because nobody had any more wood or cane to burn. There was nothing better to do so they spewed Luppy’s liquor and sort of danced and chased each other around. It wouldn’t stop until somebody fell in.