Ace Atkins - Dark End of the Street

“You lie to her,” he said. “And I’ll kill you.”

His eyes were black and hard and I believed he would try.

“Fair deal.”

She patted him on the knee as he finished chewing some more boiled peanuts, the final notes of the blues player swirling around us, dope smoke as thick as ever.

“What casino?” he asked.

“Magnolia Grand.”

He laughed to himself and shook his head. “Ransom.”

I took another pull of the beer, and leaned closer.

“Levi Ransom,” he said. “Runs Dixie Mafia north of Biloxi. Motherfucker would love to run me out one of these days.”

“What’s he like?”

“Never seen him. Heard he had a man skinned alive for fucking his wife and that he raises pit bulls for fighting out at his farm. Think maybe he’s from Memphis. Met people in Angola who helped him. Set him up. My father was there. If he was alive, he could tell you about Ransom.”

“Let me ask you this, would he have the kind of juice to influence politics?”

“Where you from?”

“Louisiana.”

“You have to ask that? Gambling is money. Money runs the state.”

“What about a group called Sons of the South? State’s rights. Rebel flags. All that shit.”

Raven shook his head and poured more Coke into his mug. Abby leaned back into the sofa, her face tired and worn. Lines of determination under her eyes.

“What about Elias Nix?” she asked.

“Yeah, I know Nix. Some Republican asshole from Nashville. What about him?”

I asked, “Could he be buddies with this guy Ransom?”

“Listen, dude. Ransom is a legend around here. You hear whispers about what he wants and then it happens. If I heard Ransom wanted to move in on me, my ass would be gone. But Ransom is smart. He doesn’t let people get too close. Like I said, I know he runs the Grand and a couple of other casinos. Has to be tied to the syndicate in Biloxi. That’s all.”

My face must’ve shown a lot of disappointment because Raven asked me to take a walk with him. Abby stayed behind and we went out through a back entrance to a little spot outside where old-time porch chairs lay rusting. I stood watching the patch of forest and all the cars bright in the intermittent glow of the moon. His eyes squinted and focused on me again.

“I wasn’t kidding about killing you,” he said, showing me two handguns he wore under his leather coat.

I pulled open my jacket and showed him the edge of my Browning hanging in a big inside pocket. “I watch my ass.”

“You watch out for her, okay?” His breath clouded before him.

I nodded and I could tell even though he was just a kid, he understood what it meant to give your word. I liked that.

“You think Ransom is running the Tennessee election?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“You know, when I’m in trouble or need some information I always find my opponent’s enemies. You know all that Art of War shit.”

“Who are Ransom’s enemies?”

“No one alive. But Nix, that’d be ole Jude Russell.”

“You know how to get to him?”

“Nope, but I can tell you he’s got a farm just north of Clarksdale. If he’s not out campaigning to be governor, he’d be there. If there was some shit about Nix and the ole Dixie Mafia, he’d either know it or be glad to hear about it. Besides, I hear he’s a just a good ole boy from Memphis. Likes to hunt and fish. Check it out.”

I told him I would. The moon cleared from a big black patch of sky. Water hung off pine branches like ice. The weight of all the water falling seemed more than the narrow trees could bear.

FROM THE ANTIQUE metal bed in Maggie’s house where I spent last night, I smelled smoked bacon frying and coffee perking. I’d been awake for a while, still feeling that uncomfortable vibe of being in a house that wasn’t my own. I stared up at the bead board ceiling, sagging in a few spots as if pregnant from rainwater, and stretched and rubbed my feet together. Pale white light blanched through the lead glass window and splayed onto warped pine floors.

I wanted to go back to sleep but I finally climbed into my clothes and pulled on my boots, tucking the Browning into my jean jacket. I hadn’t shaved for a few days and I hoped I could take a shower.

“Mornin’,” Maggie said to me at the stove, slipping the bacon off an iron skillet and onto a blue Fiesta plate. “Abby’s still sleepin’.”

She had on jeans and mud-crusted boots with a red checked shirt with snap buttons. Her black hair was wet and slicked back and her eyes were even greener than I remembered. Almost jade. I heard cartoons in the other room and a little boy laugh.

She nodded to a blue-speckled coffee pot on the stove and I poured a cup. Outside, a weak fall sun shone onto a small backyard cut into the woods. A jungle gym. A wooden swingset.

“Abby said y’all had some luck.”

I nodded. She was a beautiful woman. One that didn’t need makeup or perfume or anything else other than what she’d been born with. You could tell she liked an honest sweat. Her hands were chapped and her skin flushed from work.

We talked for a bit about the Sons of the South and Elias Nix and an idea I had for driving over to Clarksdale.

I said, “Maybe I could track down Jude Russell in Memphis.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to you?”

“I’m gonna try and get one of his wranglers to give him a message at his lodge.”

“You ride?” she asked, taking a seat and pulling off her work boots.

“Not in a long time. My folks used to have a farm.”

“You had your own horse?”

I nodded. “My dad ended up selling him for a case of beer.”

“Let me know if you ever want to get back riding. I have trails that go on for acres. Good land with creeks and a nice bit of woods.”

She smiled. Perfect teeth. Her hands moved around the edge of her coffee cup and I felt my face redden.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“I appreciate you helpin’ Abby,” she said.

“No problem. It all goes back to the man I’m looking for.”

“Is he a friend?”

“In a way.”

“Oh,” she said, hopping up and grabbing the plates. “Almost forgot. You want salt and pepper?”

“You have hot sauce?”

She did and we ate for a while. Her son came in and took a seat on his mother’s knee. She broke off a piece of bacon and he ate it looking at me the whole time, as if I were a novelty. She bounced him on her leg and he smiled.

After a few minutes, he became bored with us, jumped up, and made airplane sounds while he ran into the TV room.

“Divorced?”

“Yeah, Dylan’s dad ran off with one of his students. He taught creative writing.”

“Here?”

“Yep. She was only fucking nineteen. That’s why when I saw you with Abby I kind of freaked out.”

“I only date students if they’re in junior high. Candy works, but I prefer furry animals.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Hand puppets?”

She shook her head. “Abby says you’re plannin’ on getting married.”

“Whoa. Man, why is it that every time a woman hears a man might get married they hassle him till he does? I said I was thinking about it.”

“Known her long?”

“About ten years.”

“Love her?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I looked back outside at the jungle gym and the homemade swingset and Tonka Trucks rusting in a sand pile. The harsh morning light made me squint as I sipped on the coffee.

“Distance,” I began.

“It’s just I was interested. I mean in…”

I smiled at her.

“And she knows I hate change,” I said, unaware why I was telling all this stuff to a woman I’d just met. But it felt good to get out and talk about things that had been festering inside me for the last couple months. It looped in my damned mind like a record with one groove. No answers. No epiphanies. I wished I was one of those people who heard a fucking song or watched the weather change or flipped to a portion of a book and made their decision. Yep, that’s it. God put that passage right down for me. But I wasn’t and I never would be and because of that I lived a hell of a lot of time in limbo.