Page 55 of Luck of the Devil
I turned to look at him. “No. I don’t think you did.”
“You think I remember every person I’ve killed?” he said in a stiff tone.
I considered it for a moment. “Maybe not every one of them, but I think you remember the ones that mattered. Like the Sylvester brothers.”
His brow rose and he turned to face me, studying me for a full second before turning back to the road. “They don’t deserve to be remembered.”
He had a point. But I suspected we’d both remember them until our last breath anyway.
“Why ask me now?” he asked. “Last time you asked me, you quickly changed your mind and said didn’t want to know.”
“Maybe I realized that you know a whole hell of a lot about my past, but I know very little about yours.”
His laugh was a short bark. “That’s bullshit if I ever heard it. You know plenty about me.”
“I know what everyone else knows. That you were the Fenton County crime boss until you were arrested. You worked for J.R. Simmons before that, as one of his Twelve.” One of the twelve crime bosses he’d sent out around the state to run their own empires, all while still offering fealty and likely a share of their profits to Simmons.
“See? Not many people know I was one of the Twelve, so you already know more than everyone else.”
“A little more, maybe, but not much.”
He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel a couple of times before he said, “I wasn’t one of the Twelve until I went to Fenton County. After Simmons sent me back there from El Dorado and a short stint in Little Rock.” He shot me another glance, his eyes hard. I was momentarily taken back, but I knew he wasn’t mad at me. He just didn’t like talking about his past.
“You grew up in Fenton County?”
“Yep.” Was his bitter reply.
He obviously hadn’t been happy about returning. “Did he send you back as punishment?”
“No, I was still his one of his prize protégées, although I didn’t feel like it when I found out where I was going. But he wasn’t happy with who was runnin’ it, and he expected me to make a power move at some point and take over. He thought the fact I was familiar with the county would help,” he said, some of his roughness gone. “But I was under his thrall, so I didn’t question it. I wasn’t happy to go, but I went nonetheless.”
“Because you wanted to run a crime syndicate? Was that your ultimate goal?”
He released a short laugh. “Hell, no. I went because I didn’t want to be dirt poor.”
“You were raised dirt poor?”
“As poor as you can get.”
I didn’t know anything about his childhood other than the bits and pieces he’d told me. That his father was a drunk, and he and his younger brother, Scooter, had been through hell—so much so, it had driven his brother to drinking. Malcolm had said he’d spent his life trying to protect him and sometimes he’d been successful and other times not. Was he referring to their beatings? Or the fact that Scooter had become an alcoholic? It seemed kind of ironic he’d named his tavern after his alcoholic brother.
Ultimately, despite caring deeply for his brother, Malcolm had left him behind. I’d inferred that this was his exile.
I wasn’t going to press the matter, so he surprised me when he said, “I met Simmons when I was fourteen years old. He pulled into the gas station I was workin’ at. I saw his fancy car and suit, and I told him I wanted to be just like him someday. He got a chuckle out of that and handed me a business card and told me to come hit him up for a job when I turned eighteen.”
“And you did.”
“I didn’t know what he did back then, just that he had a lot of money, and as far as I was concerned, if I could get money, my troubles will be over.” He released a self-deprecating laugh. “Little did I know.”
“Did your parents disapprove?”
“My father was long gone, not that I gave a shit about what that bastard thought.”
“He was a mean drunk.” It wasn’t a question, more of an acknowledgement.
“The meanest. He used to beat my brother and me for the fun of it. He’d beat my mother because of any imagined wrong.” He shot me another long glance before he turned back to road, saying, “He was the first man I killed.”
If he’d meant to shock me, he was about to be disappointed. “Because he’d pushed you too far,” I said. “He’d hurt your mother or brother one too many times.”
