F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

And now the bitch was trying to run. Still bent over, she staggered away. But she didn’t get far. She ran the top of her head dead on into a concrete support. Poppy heard a meaty smack and then the bitch was crumbling to the floor like an empty burlap sack.

She stood over her, waiting for her to get up, but she didn’t move. And as suddenly as it had come, the red rage was gone.

Poppy turned and hurried back to Katie. She swept her up in her arms and carried her toward the stairs.

“C’mon honey bunch. We’re getting out of here.”

She’d parked the truck across the street in a church parking lot. The place was plastered with no parking signs but she’d left a note on the dashboard about engine trouble and how she’d gone to get a mechanic—Please, please, PLEASE don’t tow me! Risky, yeah, but she hadn’t wanted to get trapped in one of these multilevel garages if she had to make a fast exit. Like now.

Poppy belted Katie into the passenger seat and pulled out onto Pacific.

Not sure yet where she was going, she gunned past the medical center and headed up to Atlantic.

A sign said no right on red there but she made one anyway, just to keep moving.

As she braked for a stoplight at Kentucky, she turned to Katie who was still sobbing softly.

“You mad at me for hitting your mother?” Katie sniffed.

“No. I’m glad. She hurt me,” she said, holding her reddened cheek. “She always hurts me.”

“Yeah? Well she ain’t never hurting you again.”

“That’s what my daddy said, but she did.”

Your daddy’s not too good at keeping promises, is he, Poppy thought. If he was, this never would have happened.

But in a way she was kind of glad things had gone wrong. It was like a sign.

Poppy didn’t believe much in signs and all that religious mumbo jumbo, but Jesus, if something was supposed to be a signal that Katie was better off with her than with her own folks, that little scene back there in the garage was it. A totally major-league sign.

And that’s fine with me, she thought, glancing over at Katie. I’ll keep you for the rest of my life. I’ll raise you just like I’d‘ve raised Glory. You’ll never have a lonely moment, and you’ll never ever have to worry about getting hurt.

Jesus, what was it with people? Kids were supposed to be precious. They were helpless. They depended on big folks for like everything—food, clothes, a roof over their heads. And safety. Big folks were here to protect little folks until they could protect themselves. That was what it was all about. So what kind of a world did a kid see when she had to be afraid of the very people who were supposed to like protect her.

She leaned over and ever so gently kissed Katie’s cheek.

“There. Does that make it feel better?” Katie stopped sobbing, but the tears looked ready to run again at any second.

“You still don’t look too happy. What say we get a Happy Meal the first McDonald’s we see? How’s that sound?” She nodded and—finally—a smile.

“And I think you could use a big hug too, Katie. How about it?” Another nod. Poppy snapped Katie’s seat belt open and gathered her into her arms.

“You’ll never get hurt again, Katie. I promise you that. From now on you’re gonna have a safe and happy home. Just like mine.” The truth of that struck her like a blow. She’d had a very happy home growing up. Things had been iffy in the money department sometimes, but she’d always felt safe and wanted. And with her dad having all those brothers, there’d like always been lots of family around.

And they were still there, still living in Sooy’s Boot. Maybe they’d take her back. Maybe if she showed up with Katie and said This is my little girl… this is your brother Mark’s granddaughter—maybe they’d let bygones be bygones and welcome her back.

Yeah. Go back to the Pines. Nobody’d think to look for her there. And even if they did come looking, they’d never find her.

“Katie,” she said. “How’d you like to see where I grew up? You want to meet all my uncles and aunts? I know they’d love to meet you. You wanna do that? We can—”

The car behind them honked. Poppy glanced up and saw the light was green. Quickly she belted Katie back in and started moving.

“Yeah,” Poppy said, getting more psyched by the minute. “Let’s do that.” Let’s go home.

10

Snake was cruising Atlantic Avenue, mostly because it was big and wide and seemed to be A.C.‘s main drag. He’d been up and down the side streets all afternoon, looking for a white panel truck, looking for a woman with a little girl. He’d seen plenty of those, but none of the women had burgundy hair, and none of the little girls looked like the package.

He had the Jeep’s radio tuned to a local station, listening to A.C. news. He wasn’t sure what he was listening for, but if something relevant happened, he wanted to hear it.

Instead, he heard the Reverend Whitcomb.

“… and how do we know President Winston’s really in the hospital for a checkup? How do we know he isn’t in there to kick a drug habit of his own? Maybe that’s why he’s so hellfire bent on legalizing this poison!” Suddenly furious, Snake turned him off.

Idiot! Drugs didn’t put Winston in the hospital! Snake put him there! He’s not there for detox! He’s there because of me!

He was crossing Kentucky then, and glanced left at the sound of a horn.

A red panel truck had stalled at the light. Same model as he was looking for—too bad it wasn’t white.

He slowed. Shitty paint job… almost as if it had been spray enameled.

He checked out the driver. A punky brunette hugging a little boy with reddish hair. Nothing like what— And then the brunette turned to check her side mirror and he saw more of her face.

Poppy!

Snake yanked the Jeep into a quick U-turn that earned him a couple of angry horns—fuck’em—and gunned it back across Kentucky just as the light changed.

He started out three cars behind the panel truck, then two. He fondled the Cobra in the front pouch of his sweatshirt. Nothing he wanted to do more than pull up alongside that truck and Swiss cheese the cab with all six rounds in the cylinder. And if not for that goddamn tape, that was what he’d be doing right now, cherishing every pull of the trigger.

But he’d have to delay that pleasure. And maybe that wasn’t so bad. Delay it until he could truly savor it. Get wired on the anticipation, then get her where he could look her in the eyes. Rip off his bandages and show her his wounds.

Look at what you did to me, bitch. Thought you killed me, didn’t you. But Snake doesn’t die easy. Snake rose from the dead. You won’t. And then he’d watch her head explode.

Oh, yes. It was going to be good. Very good.

But he had to get the tape first.

He focused on the panel truck ahead, keeping two cars between them. He had her in his sights—all he had to do now was be patient and wait for the right moment to make his move.

He noticed the Maryland plates had been switched for Jersey’s and smiled.

A complete makeover, eh. Poppy? New paint job, new plates, new hair for you and the kid. Think you’ve got everybody fooled, don’t you. And maybe you do. Everybody but me.

11

“It’s for you.” Bob Decker stepped across the trailer office they’d set up as a coordinating center on a vacant lot off Indiana Avenue. Canney’s voice came through.

“We found her.” Bob’s heart leaped. Thank God!

“Katie?”

“Uh, no,” Canney said. “Sorry. I guess I should have phrased that a little differently. I meant the woman. We know who she is.”

“Oh.” Bob tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. For a moment there he’d thought this was over.