Edward Lee - The Backwoods

“You guys busted into that old lady’s house and ya know it,” Trey told them, jabbing a finger hard against Ricky’s chest. “Oh, you don’t like me pokin’ ya? Do something about it.”

Ricky’s eyes lowered, and under his breath he said, “This is bullshit.”

Next, Chief Sutter bellied right up into his face. “And I know it was you two peepin’ on the Chester girls and their babysitter. Truck just like yours was seen leavin’ the street. What a pair a’ scumbags.”

Now Junior tried to get right back in Sutter’s face. “We didn’t peep on nobody,” he lied just as well as his brother. In fact, they’d been doing the same since adolescence. Junior’s voice increased in volume. “And that’s downright shitty a’ you to say we’d do somethin’ like that. The Chester girls ain’t even in high school yet.”

“That’s what I mean,” the chief countered, and then he jabbed a hard finger. “And you better keep your lyin’ voice down, ‘cos if you disturb this service with your bullshit, I’m kickin’ both your asses.”

Junior’s face began to twitch, as it often did when he was riled. But was he stupid enough to assault the chief of police?

Junior opened his hand, prepared to give Sutter a good, hard shove.

Trey jumped in front of him, pushing him back. Even Ricky, the slightly wiser one, grabbed his brother by the arm to stave off the blow.

"Forget it, Junior,” he ordered. “Don’t give ’em an excuse to bust us.”

Trey kept pushing Junior away from the chief. “Grow a brain for a change and listen to your brother, you asswipe.” He leveled his gaze on both of them. “Get your deadbeat asses out of here while you still can. We will not allow a scene here. You fuck this up for Judy, me ’n’ the chief are gonna fuck you boys up but good.”

Junior’s eyes were red with rage. He shook off his brother’s hand, then turned and stalked off. Ricky followed him.

When they were back at the road where everyone had parked, Ricky slapped Junior’s shoulder. “Shit, man! I thought you were really gonna shove Sutter!”

“Damn well had a mind to. I’d love to roust that fat fuck.”

“So’d Trey slip ya the contact?”

Junior reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “Fucker should be a pickpocket. Slippery, ya know? I didn’t even feel it.” He slipped out a small piece of paper.

The paper read: The Hilds. Tonight. Glove compartment.

“Hmm,” Junior said.

They both lumbered to their pickup truck, a dented hulk. Ricky excitedly flung open the door, then popped down the door to the glove box.

“The man came through!”

Junior eyed the contents of the envelope. “Yeah, and he ain’t foolin’ around.”

A thousand dollars in cash filled the envelope.

(II)

Later, the house sprawled with friends, neighbors, and other well-wishers. This is definitely a Southern-style funeral reception, Patricia observed. The gathering began quietly but soon unwound into something close to a party. Local women had all brought food—cakes, salads, cold cuts—but it didn’t take long before the banquet table took a backseat to alcohol. This is how they do it. . . . Younger Squatter women silently aided Ernie in dispensing the drinks, yet Patricia didn’t see any of the Squatters actually drinking themselves. Oh, that’s right, she remembered. They’re teetotalers. Just about everyone else, though, was proving the opposite.

But Patricia was surprised by how well composed her sister remained during the service. There were tears, of course, but nothing close to the breakdown Patricia foresaw. Again, it seemed that Patricia’s mere presence was her sister’s main source of comfort.

As late afternoon became evening, Patricia began to feel more at ease herself. At first she’d felt a bit like an outcast in this crowd of seeming strangers, but eventually many of the faces sparked her memories of when she’d last lived here; she was greeted cordially time and time again, even by some whom she didn’t remember until names were mentioned. The entirety of the affair was rich with sentimental talk, like, “Dwayne surely will be missed,” "What a tragic passing,” “We’ll really miss him,” and on and on—things Patricia knew were being said only for Judy to overhear. In the parlor, some older local men spoke more along the lines of the truth: “Judy’s so much better off without that lyin’, cheatin’ prick,” and “Good riddance to the bastard.” Patricia’s city-born cynicism forced a smile.

She kept her own drinking on the light side—she wasn’t in the mood, and she didn’t want to make a bad impression by getting too tipsy in front of the others. I’m here for my sister, so I don’t need to be getting pie-eyed.

But every so often—she couldn’t help it—she cast a glance toward Ernie.

Not this again . . .

He had his suit jacket and tie off now, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up over toned, tanned forearms. He’d unbuttoned the shirt a few notches, and she could see his pectorals flexing when he lifted a tray of sandwiches.

Her eyes raked down his body, and suddenly she was imagining him naked, on top of her . . .

I have to stop this! This is crazy!

“You must be Patricia, Judy’s sister from Washington.”

The sudden voice hawked down on her; she flinched as a child might when caught doing something naughty. A very well dressed blond man stood beside her, hard blue eyes, a flirting smile. She’d been so caught off guard musing about Ernie, she was nearly annoyed.

“Yes, I’m Patricia,” she said when she recovered. “And you are?”

“Gordon Felps,” the man replied. His hand felt cool, strong. His complexion seemed blanched, which only intensified the blue eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you from your sister. My only regret is the circumstance I’ve finally gotten to meet you under.”

Felps, Felps. Patricia struggled. Then she remembered. “Oh, you’re the construction magnate.”

The man chuckled. “I wouldn’t call myself a magnate by any means, but I am a builder, yes.”

“The luxury condos that are going on up on the river side of the Point.” Her lawyer’s instincts instantly engaged. “And you’d like to continue building on this side of the Point. My sister mentioned that you’d already made an offer for her property, so you’ll need to know that I’m Judy’s acting legal counsel for all personal and business matters.” A cordial smile as she handed him her business card. “Please feel free to contact me in the future for any inquiries regarding my sister.”

Felps wasn’t fazed by her polite show of force; if anything he was impressed. He pocketed the card. “I will, thank you—not that I suspect it will be necessary, not at this point. Judy’s made her desires clear to me. She doesn’t want to sell the family land, and I respect that. Actually I’ve made several offers, but anything more than five million wouldn’t be practical from my standpoint.”

Five million? I thought she said one million. . . .

“I fully understand her loyalty to Everd Stanherd and his people. She doesn’t want to put them out; regrettably, if I took over the property, I’d have no choice. I’d build an entire community where they’re living now.”

“The Squatters have always been sort of a surrogate family—they worked for my mother and father when they started the crabbing business in the fifties.” But in the back of Patricia’s mind, she kept thinking, Five million? Wow . . .

“Of course. I’ll have to keep my project on the river side, but I’m sure it will still stimulate the town’s growth.” He looked around the reception. “Anyway, it’s uncouth of me even to be discussing it at such a time—sorry.”