Lee Johnson - Nitro Mountain

“That’s it, that’s right,” Cory says. “Sing it.”

Strumming and humming, Jones looks up, trying to remember. “Can’t think how the rest goes.”

“It’s done ,” Eddie says. “That thing’s done . Done and done. Cory, next song.”

Cory starts into “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” which he says he also wrote, and Eddie begins belting it out with him. Cory looks at Jones. “You know we ain’t gonna stop till you give us money for some.”

Larry knocks and Sharon cracks open the door, the chain pulling taut as she peers out.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s just me.”

“I can see that.” She unlatches the chain.

He drags from his cigarette, bends and stubs it in the bucket of sand. He steps past her, leaving the door for her to shut.

“Don’t bring all that inside with you,” she says, fanning out the smoke.

“It’s hot in here,” he says.

He holds the doorframe to the kitchen for balance while stepping on the heel of his shoe to get it off. “I’m not working tonight,” he says. “Probably not tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have the Jaguars booked tonight? That’s the show you were counting on this month. We can’t dip into any more savings.”

“Tiff’s got it covered.” He goes into the kitchen.

“Like hell she does.”

“She’s a good girl, Sharon.”

“When you’re around.”

“You don’t know.”

“I’ve heard stories.”

“We’re not starting this right now.”

He picks the phone off the counter and dials Turner’s number. It rings a while. Of course. It’s Turner. The light angles in through the window and slips across the table. Larry hasn’t been in the house at this hour of the day in a long time. Sharon’s standing in the doorway watching him.

He covers the receiver with his hand. “Just a minute, Share. I’m just…”

Finally Turner answers. “Yeah, what?”

When Larry holds up his index finger, she throws her hands in the air and goes back into the living room.

“Who’s calling Turner at this hour?” Turner says. “Who?” He sounds beer drunk.

“It’s Larry. I got to tell you something.”

“That’s better. Report findings.”

“Listen, Turner. This is about Arnett.”

“Where’s he at?”

“I don’t know. But I got to tell you. I called the cops.”

“I saw them. I’ll forgive you this time. Guess who else I saw. Him. This morning at the Lookout. Ricky and them missed him entirely.”

“Why didn’t you take him?”

“I didn’t say I was there . I was over on South Mountain, surveilling the place. Anyways, I know where he’s going.”

“So why you asking if I know where he’s at?”

“Old trooper-trust exercise. Remember? Don’t worry. You passed.”

“How you plan on finding him?”

“I been doing my research. He can’t stay on that mountain forever. Where’s the one place in the county he still has a friend?”

“You tell me ,” Larry says.

“Misty’s,” Turner says. “He gonna come looking for little old Bobby.”

“But how in the hell would he rationalize going into Bordon? You need to call the real cops about what you saw.”

“They already had their chance,” Turner says. “This here’s mine. Listen, Larry, you let me know if you want to get in on this. We could ride again, buddy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying. I know you itching for some action.”

“I’ve had enough of it. I like who I am.”

“This could be your chance to get back in the business. A big catch.”

“Aw, come on. I ain’t about to get mixed up in this shit.”

“Dollars.”

“You need to leave this to the cops. I hate to say it — I shouldn’t have even called you.”

“I am the cops,” Turner says. “And now everybody’s gonna fess up to that and pay me for the safety I provide.”

“Are you drinking?”

“I’m sitting here in Misty’s right now. Staked out.”

“Shit,” Larry says. “If I don’t hear you’ve straightened things by midnight, I’m calling Ricky myself and telling him everything you just told me.”

“You don’t trust Ricky any more than I do. They should’ve been there for you when you were in court with Jack. They could’ve pressed your warrant, validated the CPS call and convicted that monster. Instead they made you go it alone.”

“I don’t need any reminders. It’s done now and I’m living a good life.”

“I know exactly what’s going on. And let me say this. What Arnett’s done is huge. Everything all over again. I know you know.” He pauses, and Larry hears him take a swallow. “And it’s right in line with what’s been going on over there for ten years on that mountain.”

“All I’m saying…”

“If you don’t wanna join my force,” Turner says, “stay out of it from here on.”

“I absolutely do not. You by yourself there?”

“I did some sweeping earlier.”

Larry looks up and sees Sharon stepping into the kitchen. “Well, don’t make a mess of it,” he says. “If he shows up, that’s when you call the cops.”

The phone cuts off. Sharon leaves the room and Larry just sits there. He hears her go out the front door. She stays gone for a while. Then she comes back, holding out her cell phone. “I just called the police, Larry, and told them to go check on Turner. He’s at Misty’s, right? I don’t mean to be getting in your business. But I do not trust that man. I want to make sure you’re safe. That’s the first thing I care about. I hope you’re not mad.”

Larry stares at nothing. “No, no,” he says. “That’s the right thing to do.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“Do you hate me for calling them?”

“No.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, and then holds his face in her hands. “You’re exhausted. Let’s go lie down.”

“I don’t know how to handle this stuff,” he says.

“I know it,” she says. “Why should you?”

She gets some candles going, pours him a glass of wine, puts a chicken in to roast and boils some potatoes. She makes sure he eats a lot.

Now she waits for all that food and the wine and TV to do what they’re supposed to do to a man. Put him to sleep. Set his mind at rest. Plus the sound of rain beginning to patter on the roof. They’re lounging together on the couch. She points the remote at the TV and turns it off so it’s just the raindrops and each other.

Larry’s having the hardest time he’s ever had. She can feel him worrying. And she knows he’s worried for Jones Young, who’s like a son to him. Those two have helped each other through so much, and now Larry doesn’t know how to go about helping him. Just as she doesn’t know how to go about helping Larry.

Palpable ’s the word that keeps coming to her. Palpable . She learned that one when she took a class at the community college. She’s always liked words, and though she doesn’t know too many, palpable ’s like when somebody doesn’t respect you and won’t say so but you know it. You can feel it. That’s palpable. Her first husband sure was. Or when somebody loves you so much they don’t even need to say it. That’s palpable too. Guess what Larry is?

His feet are on the armrest right next to her head. She finds one with her free hand, squeezes it, then rolls off the couch, careful not to spill the open bottle of red onto the carpet.

“Cork that thing, will you,” Larry says without looking.