She looked like she might faint. “I…Mister, I…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He turned and walked out. He would have to hurry now to make his meeting.
Chapter
13
ROBIE WALKED INTO Momma Lulu’s on Little Choctaw at one minute past five. The place was only a quarter full, and Robie recalled that most folks who ate out in Cantrell ate out late. This was usually because they labored long, and their labor was often outside in a hot, humid climate, which required at least a shower and major amounts of deodorant before heading out to a public place.
He looked around but did not see Taggert among the tables. He noticed a man at the cash register who was staring at him. With a slight movement of his head he motioned Robie over.
“Go out the way you come in, turn right. There’s an alley there. Walk down it. She’ll be there.”
“And who are you?” asked Robie.
“A friend of hers, Mr. Robie. Just a friend.”
Robie did as the man said, though part of him expected an ambush as he walked into the darkened alley. But it was a straight shot with no place for concealment. He exited the narrow path, again ready for someone to jump him, but he saw Taggert sitting in what he assumed was her private vehicle, though she still had on her police uniform.
She pointed to the passenger door and he climbed in. As he belted up she put the rusty Ford Taurus in reverse, backed out, and sped off heading east. At the next intersection, she turned to go south.
Robie looked around the interior of the car and noted the booster seat in the back. On the floorboard were discarded fast-food containers and polystyrene coffee cups. Robie could see the pavement below through a hole in the floorboard.
The inside of the car smelled musty, layered by the stench of a fouled diaper.
“How many kids do you have?”
“Four.”
He eyed the booster seat. Her gaze followed his.
“My grandson, Sammy,” she said.
He said incredulously, “You’re a grandmother? You’re only, what, forty-one?”
“Had my first at nineteen. She had her first at eighteen. You do the math.”
“Okay.”
“You have any kids, Robie?”
“No.”
“Married?”
“No.”
“Ever been?”
“No.”
She shot him a glance. “You of the homosexual persuasion?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
Once they were clear of the small downtown she spoke again. “Heard you had some trouble at Danby’s.”
“That just happened a few minutes ago. How’d you hear already?”
“Small-town livin’ is faster’n Twitter ever thought’a bein’. Got me two calls probably before the last fellow hit the planks.”
“Just for the record, they attacked me.”
“Not disputin’ that. Pete Clancy is a royal a-hole.”
“I understand he was from a second marriage?”
“Shortly after Sherm came into money, he divorced Cassandra, married some bimbo he met in Biloxi when he was probably drunk outta his mind, and wham, bam, thank you ma’am, there was Pete. Then he divorced the bimbo and she’s long gone, but there’s still Pete.”
“So with his father gone, won’t Pete be inheriting?”
“Old Sherm liked the good life and spent his money—doubt there’ll be much left once the kids from his first marriage try to get their pound’a flesh. Seems Sherm didn’t leave a will, so he died intestate. Which makes it all a little trickier.”
“Since you wanted to meet, I guess the riot act you read me at the jail was just that, an act?”
“Only partly. It did piss me off to see you walk in that door. But you got outta Cantrell. Most of us didn’t. Guess I was jealous.”
“And the other part?”
“You’re persona non grata here, Robie. Won’t do me no good cozyin’ up to you. Folks don’t come into Cantrell all that often. Hell, almost never. And your daddy is an accused murderer of one of the citizens of this humble place. Not an esteemed citizen by any stretch, but still he was one of us.”
Robie settled back in his seat. “So what did you want to meet for?”
“Some things you ought’a know. And I suppose you got yourself some questions.”
“I have nothing but questions.”
“Let me ask you one.”
“Okay.”
“You took on three big guys at Danby’s and licked ’em. How? What you been doin’ with yourself all these years?”
“Well, the last guy ran off, so it was only two really.”
“You play cute with me, you can get your butt outta my car right now.”
“I learned self-defense after I left here. Just a few moves, and those guys were drunk.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not believing him but apparently unwilling to push it.
Robie looked up ahead. “Where are we going?”
“Got a spot on the Gulf. Like to go there. Nice place to have a conversation.”
“Why are you doing this, Deputy Taggert?”
“Call me Sheila, for Chrissakes, Robie. I’m not on duty.”
“You can call me Will, if you want.”
“No. Don’t cut both ways. Can’t get too personal with you.”
“Okay, so, Sheila, why are you doing this?”
“I guess I naturally gravitate to the underdog. And you are the underdog here, Robie, make no mistake ’bout that.”
“I didn’t know it was a competition.”
“This is small-town Mississippi. Everythin’s a damn competition. We just pretend to be laid back and not give a shit ’bout nothin’. But we keep score on football games and everythin’ else. Guess it makes up for most’a us not havin’ two dimes to rub together our whole damn lives.”
They drove along in silence until they reached the Gulf Coast. She parked her car on a narrow strip of dirt and they climbed out. He followed her down to the edge of the water. They both gazed out to where the warm Gulf waters ran to the horizon. Overhead the sun had plenty of fuel left to burn before it sank into the other side of the world.
Robie’s mind drifted back to August 2005, when Katrina had slammed into this part of America. The storm had come ashore officially as a Category 3 hurricane, but its effect once on land had made it seem like a Cat 10. It crushed and drowned everything and everyone in its path, filling up New Orleans like a soup bowl once the levees failed. While the Big Easy had gotten most of the media attention, large parts of Mississippi had been devastated, too.
Sheila looked over at Robie. It was as though she could read his thoughts.
“Katrina missed Cantrell for the most part. Don’t know why. Must’ve been God’s work. Towns on either side of us weren’t so lucky, though. I lost some good friends. We all did.”
Robie nodded slowly. He had been in Afghanistan at the time, killing the Taliban from long range with his sniper skills. The CIA had loaned him out to the DoD to help take the fight to the enemy that had toppled the Towers and viciously struck the Pentagon, using innocent American citizens trapped inside jumbo jets as their weapons of choice. He had killed many during the day and then tried to sleep at night when the temperatures dropped to a hundred degrees in the proverbial shade. His tour had lasted longer than he could remember. He had gotten little news from stateside, but the whole world had known about Katrina. From nine thousand miles away he had not checked on the town of Cantrell or his father, though he might have been able to.
He had not done so because at that point in his life he didn’t care.
The town and his father were no longer part of who he was. And after killing a dozen people a day himself while sniping in combat, he had grown immune to the effects of widespread death. He didn’t like that about himself, but he couldn’t deny that it had been how he had felt then. And maybe still did.
“Where were you, Robie?” asked Taggert quietly. “When
Katrina came ashore?”