Page 38 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“I’m sorry,” she said, softly. She didn’t have a soft voice, usually. She was blunt, and her accent was thick, and she didn’t say anything she didn’t mean, so why play at demure? She’d always been a tall and leggy sort of girl, and she couldn’t stand when anyone over five-seven pretended they were dainty and fragile. But now, while the blonde stubbed out her cigarette on the edge of the counter and fumbled for a fresh one, she made her voice small, and soft, and placating.

The blonde paused with the lighter trembling in front of her cig, flame wavering back and forth. The gun was steadier, but not by much, aimed at the top of the table. “What?”

“That phone call you got,” Tina said. “I couldn’t hear anything, but it sounded rough.” Venturing further, inwardly wincing: “He doesn’t sound like a very nice guy, your Harlan.”

For a moment, the blonde didn’t move. Tina feared she’d screwed up, that she was about to be pistol-whipped – but then the woman’s lips curved upward in a humorless smile around the cig’s filter, and she lit it, and snorted.

“No shit. What was your first clue?” she asked, exhaling around the cigarette while she tucked her lighter back in her purse. After, she gripped the cig between her fingers and withdrew it to tap ash onto the floor. “Point me out a man who’s not a shithead, and I’ll call you a damn liar.”

Tina was so shocked not to have drawn her ire that she sat for a moment, stupid and uncertain of what to say next. Finally, once the blonde had fixed her with an expectant look, she said, “My son’s not a shithead.”

Her smile widened, mocking, now, but less frantic than before. She took another drag, and said, “Yeah, well, he’s a mama’s boy, then. You’re not fucking him – fucking men turns them into assholes.”

Tina shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. It’s why I’m not married.”

That seemed to surprise her. Her brows lifted on her next drag. “Yeah? Old Man Lécuyer ruin you for everyone else?” Her voice went snide at the end, her smile cruel: she enjoyed delivering what she thought was a heart blow.

Tina said, “I mean, he was hung.”

The blonde nodded as if to sayof course.

“But he wasn’t the love of my life or anything. I’ve never had one of those, and I don’t guess I ever will.”

The blonde smirked, eyes flashing with disgust. “That kinda shit’s made up anyway.” She peered at Tina over the smoking cherry of her cig, and then nodded, as though she’d come to a decision. Tina read it as approval, for some reason.

“I hear his son likes to torture people for fun.”

“Which one?”

Flash of teeth. Tina felt clever, and worried she could feel that way right up until she caught a bullet between the eyes.

The blonde said, “The one who’s supposed to be my brother.”

“I think heisyour brother. Half-brother. He’s Dee’s son.”

Another shrug.

“You ever met him?” Tina ventured.

“Haveyou?” the blonde countered, and they shook their heads at the same time.

“Alex has. I think – I think that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why you wanted Alex to come? To get to Felix?”

The blonde’s next drag was short and sharp, agitated. Her lips twitched downward, and Tina knew she’d pushed too hard. Whatever fragment of good will she’d engendered before, the blonde dismissed it with a restless tap of cigarette ash onto the floor.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” she snapped. “You–”

The doorbell rang.

There was a speaker for it in the foyer, and here in the kitchen, above the wall-mounted clock, and both of them startled hard at its tinny, cheerfulbing-bong.

The blonde flicked her cigarette into the sink where it hit a puddle with a hiss. “Fuck. Harlan.” She lit up for a moment, her smile manic, her hand trembling so badly Tina thought – hoped – she might drop the gun. She twisted, poised to rush toward the front door, and then froze. Her head snapped around toward Tina, and the gun leveled and steadied.

“Go answer it,” she said, just as the doorbell sounded again.

Was it Harlan? Or Alex?

Tina didn’t want to find out firsthand, but, well, the gun was trained on her face.

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