Nothing But the Bones, page 2
“Clayton,” Kate said, still holding Amy. “We need to call for help.”
Clayton looked confused.
“The CB in your truck. Go call the sheriff or an ambulance or something. We need to help him or we are going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“Help him? You saw what happened, Kate. That asshole could’ve killed somebody. Nelson had every right to—”
“I know that, Clayton, but we can’t just do nothing and let him bleed to death.”
Clayton knew she was right, but he didn’t like it. Who was going to believe them? That beating didn’t look like self-defense. It looked more like Daryl was mauled by a goddamn tiger. Clayton also didn’t want to leave them there alone. Nelson still had something weirdly wrong in his eyes and what if that other kid, Jeter, came back—with more of their crew? “Let’s just think about it a second,” he said.
“Please, Clayton. We don’t have a second. Go call for help. Go now.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m going.” He gathered himself, brushed the grass and dirt off his bloodstained Levi’s, and squatted down next to Nelson. “I’ll be right back. You just breathe and stay here. Watch out for the girls. Nelson? Just nod if you can hear me. You good, man?”
Nelson said nothing. He wasn’t good. This was bad and he knew it. He felt far away, outside himself. Clayton asked him again and this time Nelson nodded.
“Wait,” Amy said. Everyone turned to look at her as she wiped tears off her face with the back of her hand. “Maybe Clayton’s right. Maybe we should take a second.”
“Amy…”
“No, Kate. Listen. The sheriff isn’t going to believe anything Nelson says.”
“But he’ll believe us. Look at your hair. We can just tell him what happened.”
Amy yanked the neon elastic out of her sheared hair and let it fall free around her face. She stood up, walked over, and took a seat in the grass next to Nelson. Even he didn’t understand what was happening.
“You saved my life, Nelson. If you hadn’t done what you did, he might’ve killed me. I’m not going to let you be punished for that.”
“Amy, we don’t have a choice here. Nelson is my friend, too, but we can’t just do nothing.”
“I’m not saying that we do nothing, Kate.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe we shouldn’t call the sheriff.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m saying maybe we get help from someone else.” Amy looked up at Clayton. He already knew what Amy was suggesting. “I’m saying we call Clayton’s father.”
Kate was stunned. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Amy stood up. “No. I’m not.” She faced Clayton. “Your dad can be down here in half the time it would take the sheriff coming from Waymore. And he can fix this, can’t he? He can make this all go away. I mean, he can help, can’t he?”
“Maybe. But, Amy. For real. I don’t know what his help will look like. He’s not the law up here. He’s…”
“Please, Clayton. He’d do it for you. C’mon. How many times are we going to let the world screw Nelson over?”
Clayton scratched at his neck. Everything his father did came at a price. Not even his family members were let off that hook. And this would be no different.
“You’re not seriously considering calling that psycho are you?”
“He’s not a psycho, Kate.”
Kate lowered her voice and spoke slowly. “You need to call the sheriff, Clayton. Not your criminal father. Do you hear me? You call the sheriff or give me your keys and I’ll do it myself.”
“Okay,” he said. He glanced at Amy and squeezed Nelson’s shoulder before he walked to his truck. Kate watched him cross the field and climb into his truck. She watched him make the call, step out, and head back toward them. She let her chin fall to her chest. She knew by the way he kept staring at his boots that he hadn’t listened to her. At least she tried.
Chapter Four
After Clayton returned from the Bronco, they all waited in silence. Everything felt wrong and upside down. At least it did to Kate. She might not have agreed with the choice they made, but she was loyal and she held Clayton’s and Amy’s hands anyway. They sat huddled in a group around Nelson, while they waited for help to arrive.
They heard an engine first, and then an old Ford step-side pulled up next to Clayton’s Bronco. Everyone watched as four men unloaded from it. Two of them jumped out of the truck bed. They carried rifles and double-checked their payloads before walking in opposite directions to the left and right of the clearing. Another one, an enormous Black man dressed in a red flannel shirt and overalls, stepped out and leaned against the driver’s side of the truck. He slapped on a ball cap. The fourth man was Clayton’s father, Gareth Burroughs. He took a moment to survey his surroundings and then slowly began to walk toward the water. He wore a brown canvas coat over a gray collared shirt tucked into a loose pair of work pants, and he slipped a plug of tobacco into his cheek from a foil pouch as he walked.
“Jesus Christ,” Kate whispered. “Is he smiling?” She felt a chill run a lap down her back as she watched him get closer. “What the hell did we do, Clayton?”
Gareth went to Daryl first. He spit a long stream of glistening tobacco juice into the sand and took a closer look at the broken boy.
“Deddy, Nelson did what he had to do. That guy was about to hurt Amy real bad and—”
“That’s enough. I don’t need to know all the details. The less you say to me, the better. I’ll take it from here.” Gareth nudged a boot into Daryl’s ribs. He glanced around at the kids, all of them standing silent, and then looked down at Nelson, still sitting at Clayton’s feet. As everyone held their collective breath, Gareth held a hand up over his head and signaled something to the men standing sentry around the pond. They both disappeared into the thick cover of loblolly pine, birch, and maple trees that surrounded the water. The big Black man in flannel, who’d stayed back by the trucks, whistled and held a hand up, spreading all five of his fingers wide and then balling them into a fist. Gareth watched, nodded, and sighed. “Clayton, get these girls outta here. Put ’em in that fancy truck of yours and bring ’em back to Waymore.”
Kate spoke almost against her will. “Wait a minute. Do we just go home now and act like none of this happened? What’s going to happen to Nelson? We can’t just—”
Gareth didn’t even look at her. He kept his cool gray eyes on his son. “Tell your girlfriend there not to worry her pretty little head about any of this. Your friend will be fine. But Val over there just let me know that the sheriff is five minutes out. And I can’t clean this mess up with all of you here. Clayton, you are covered in blood. I can’t let you be seen like that. And those two girls? They were never here. End of story. Now, do what you’re told. Get them out of here—now.”
Clayton nodded and began to usher the girls toward his truck.
“Take the Summer Branch fire road out of here instead of McDowell,” Gareth yelled behind them. “I don’t want you passing any cop cars on the main road.”
“Yessir,” Clayton said.
Gareth listened to the mumbling begin once they were several feet away. The sound of some entitled little Waymore brat giving his youngest son an earful of lip irritated him to no end. He absentmindedly rolled his wedding ring around on his finger, then spit, shook his head, and waited until the kids were out of earshot before he kneeled next to Nelson McKenna. The boy seemed to be the only person out there capable of looking the mountain-born shot-caller directly in the eye. Gareth took that as a good sign.
“You’re Satchel McKenna’s boy, ain’t ’cha?”
Nelson didn’t speak. He wanted to, but as always, his words were still gummed up in his head.
“You know how to talk, son?”
Nelson nodded.
“Then get to it. I asked if you were Satchel McKenna’s boy?” Gareth already knew the answer. He was just trying to gauge the boy’s state of mind for what was about to happen. “Okay. You don’t wanna talk. Fine. How about you listen instead. The sheriff down there in Waymore heard Clayton call me on the radio, so inside of about four minutes you’re going to see one of those shiny white and brown sheriff’s cars roll in here next to where my friend Val over there is standing by that truck. You see him?”
Nelson looked and nodded.
“Good. And then next, a sloppy-looking idiot with a tin star pinned to his shirt is going to walk down here and start flapping his gums. But don’t you worry about him. I only want two things to happen once he gets here. One, I want you to keep your mouth shut. Just like you’re doing. That don’t look like it’ll be too hard for you. I can see that you’re the quiet type already. You tracking?”
Nelson nodded again.
“Good. Number two. I want you to trust me. You think you can do that?”
Nelson held his head as still as his tongue.
“Okay boy, the clock is tickin’ and I need your word that you’re not gonna spin out on me. Do you know who I am?”
Of course he did. Everyone on the mountain knew who Gareth Burroughs was. Nelson nodded again without any hesitation this time.
“Well good. And if you know me then you know I don’t like being owed to nobody. And right now I’m owed out to you.”
That made Nelson raise an eyebrow.
“That’s right. See, that sack of junkie garbage over there is a real piece of shit. I know that, because he used to work for me—when he was upright—and you, my boy—you just saved me from the unpleasantry of having to put him down myself. So, I’m saying that I need to return the favor. So we can call it square. That way we can both be eating some hot supper in no time. My oldest boy, Halford, is cooking up some catfish stew back at the house. You like catfish, don’t you, son?”
“Ye … yes, sir.”
“Atta boy. So, I’m going to ask you again if you think you can trust me?”
“Yessir. I trust you.”
Gareth spit in the dirt. “All right then.”
Just as Gareth predicted, he and Nelson watched as a white and tan Crown Victoria wheeled into the gravel and parked in the same place Clayton’s Bronco had been just a few minutes earlier. A chubby man with mirrored sunglasses in a tan button-up shirt with a shiny star pinned to it got out of the car. He offered a chin tip to Gareth’s friend Val, and then cocked a stiff county-issued sheriff’s hat on his brow. Everyone watched as the McFalls County sheriff, Sam Flowers, made his way toward the pond.
“He looks like a goddamn fool. Don’t he, boy?”
Nelson had no true gauge for what a fool looked like, but he’d found his voice and he didn’t want to lose it again, so he spoke. “I reckon.”
When Flowers saw the extent of damage done to Daryl, he grabbed for the radio on his belt.
“Don’t touch that radio, Flowers.”
“Now look here, Gareth. If this young fella is still alive, I need to radio in for a medic or some shit.”
“Take your glasses off, Sam.”
“Huh?”
“I said get your hands off that goddamn radio and take off those dipshit sunglasses before you talk to me.”
“Now, Gareth, c’mon and be reasonable here. This kid looks bad and as a representative of the law in McFalls County, it’s my responsibility to—”
Gareth cut him off with a high-pitched whistle like the one they’d heard the Black man sound a few minutes ago. Another whistle rang out from the tree line. And then another. The two men with rifles that Nelson had watched create a perimeter earlier were suddenly present. Nelson had forgotten they were there. He guessed that was the point. The two men lifted the barrels of the long guns. The message was clear. Sheriff Flowers removed his mirrored aviators and hung them from his shirt pocket. Gareth spit in the dirt, pulled the plug of wet tobacco from his cheek, and tossed it in the water. “Now, you were saying? Something about your responsibility?”
“Gareth, I’ve got the right to know what went on here. And I’ve got a responsibility to try and help that young man over there before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late for that one. He’s done. And honestly, there ain’t all that much to tell you about what happened. My boy Clayton and his buddy here, come out to the water to cool off, maybe get some use of that tire swing over there.”
Flowers wiped at his salt-and-pepper mustache. “To get some use of the tire swing?”
“Yup.”
Flowers looked around. He didn’t see a tire swing.
“Then they come up on ol’ boy over there all worked over, probably by some fellas he owed money to, and so Clayton called me out here to help, seein’ as I was closer. But as you can tell by looking at him, there ain’t no help to be offered.”
Flowers looked down at Nelson, who tried to hide his scraped-up knuckles in his lap.
“Don’t look at him, Sam.” Gareth snapped his fingers. “You look up here at me.”
Flowers did. “Gareth, the boy’s got blood all over him—”
“Yeah, bless his heart. He tried to help. Clayton did, too. That’s why I sent him home—to clean up.” Gareth spit again, just inches from Flowers’s patent leather shoes. He licked his front teeth and took a step toward the sheriff. “That’s all that happened out here, Sam. And my word is as good as the Gospel of John. Unless you’re calling me a liar.”
The air went thin, and Sheriff Flowers had trouble stringing together the next sentence. “No, Gareth. I ain’t. Wait. I ain’t saying that. Not at all. I’m saying. I mean…”
“What, Sam? What do you mean?”
“I mean, what is it exactly you want me to do with this?”
“Well, if I was you—and thank God I ain’t—I’d mosey on back to that office in Waymore and wait for a missing person’s report. Because when you get it—lucky you—you’ll know right where to look.”
“Now, Gareth, what you’re asking is—”
“I ain’t asking, Sam. I’m telling you what’s what. This ain’t Waymore Valley. This is Bull Mountain. So it’s my call to make. Not yours. That’s the arrangement. Now, go on back to Waymore. Answer your phone. Fill out some forms. Do whatever fat-ass police do on a Tuesday because your investigation here is over.”
“All right. I get it. I understand. I’m going.” The sheriff backed away with his hands in plain sight for the gunmen in the trees to see, and then began to fumble for his sunglasses.
“No, Sam. You leave those right where they are until you get back in your car.”
Flowers didn’t understand why that mattered but he didn’t argue. He took one more backward step before turning on his heel and breaking into a brisk pace back to his cruiser.
“Oh, yeah, and Sam? I ever find out you been monitoring my son’s CB channels again, I’m gonna break every bone in your gun hand. You’ll never jerk off again.”
Gareth waited until the dust settled from the sheriff’s Crown Vic leaving to signal his men. He twirled a finger in the air, indicating to bring the perimeter in and then took a seat in the grass next to Nelson. “You know why I love it when shitbird police wear mirrored sunglasses, boy?”
Nelson did not. He shook his head.
“Because it makes the shiniest target.” He spit. “And I just love it when he hangs ’em there right over his heart. You get what I mean about being a fool, now?”
“Yessir.”
Chapter Five
Gareth held his hand out to one of the gunmen who’d come down to the water from the trees. This man had a headful of rust-colored hair, too, like Clayton. Nelson even thought that he looked a bit like his friend but a few years older and he carried a squirrelly kind of crazy in his eyes—like a ferret. The young man pulled a blued steel .45 caliber pistol from a military-style rucksack and laid it in Gareth’s open palm. Burroughs made a show of the gun’s weight and shape until it garnered enough of Nelson’s interest. The intended result. “You ready to make all this square, son?”
Nelson was confused. “I thought you said if I trusted you with the sheriff then we’d already be square.”
Gareth let a small grin ease across his lips. “What I said was I’d handle Johnny law in exchange for you putting down a dog. Well—that dog over there ain’t all the way down.” Gareth held out the .45. “You know how to handle one of these?”
Nelson nodded, indicating that he did, but he didn’t reach out to take it. Gareth sighed. “My boy said that punk over there tried to hurt one of your friends. That true?”
“Yessir.”
“Would you be surprised to hear that ain’t the first time that junkie piece of shit ever roughed up a lady?”
“He done it before?”
“Several times. See, boy, there’s a misconception in the world that took me a long time to come to terms with. Something that took me until I was almost grown to completely understand. But it’s something that you could learn right here and right now. And looking at the beating you put on that fella over there tells me you really need to hear it. You see, most folks believe that you’re either born a hammer or a nail. Meaning that if you’re born a hammer, you tend to see other people as nails, and you just want to bash on them. Good intentions or not.” Gareth reached down and pulled Nelson’s clubbed fist out of his lap. He held it up despite Nelson’s resistance. “Why, the good Lord even saw fit to build a hammer right into your hand.” Gareth held Nelson’s deformed and bloodied fist up a few moments, finally allowing the boy to pull it away. The boy stuck his hand back into his jacket pocket and stared into his lap.
“It’s almost like the world already decided your fate. But I don’t believe in that shit. I don’t think the world is that simple. It ain’t that black-and-white. You see, hammers are a dime a dozen. Anybody can be a hammer. Just like that fool on the ground over there. A hammer’s just a tool. And it’s too damn easy to dismiss somebody like you as just another tool in the shed. Hell, that’s what most people are going to expect from you. But the truth is, it’s the nails that matter. The steel. The bite. The precision. They work in unison. By themselves they don’t seem like much, but together—together—they can hold up an entire house—or even an empire. But that choice is yours to make. You can just be another tool, good for one thing and one thing only, or you can be one of the nails that help hold something together—something important. You can belong to something much bigger than just you alone, son. You can be what everyone on this mountain expects you to be, or you can be one of us. One of the nails in the house of Burroughs. But you need to earn it.”
