Swamp of Shadows - Chapter 5

I hadn’t left the Bowie County line in over a decade. After my wife left, taking our daughters with her, my long streak of bad luck ended when I got hired as an insurance agent. So yeah, I can look back to a couple of years in the late seventies when my life was a mess. And by mess, I mean it was like an elephant stampede, flooding the steps of castles made of cow dung. We’ re talking hell, man. Anyway, that was before the incident, the killing.
First off, to be clear, I’ ll say it again: I didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it.
Tom Wilson? Well, he had it coming. And ever since then, the godforsaken curse of that man had followed me like a dark cloud on a sunny day.
Emily wasn’t any help either. They took her away too, you know. She did four months in “ Pink Block” before they let her out. Good behavior isn’t too hard to come by in Pink Block. There are a lot of guards looking for a little favor, and if you can take the abuse, they’ ll keep you safe and speak well of you at your parole hearings. As for me? Well, the police gave good ol’ Jack a couple of long sentences. Emily would visit sometimes, pressing her lovely African – American breasts against the glass and sighing. But after a while, her visits tapered off like an old Ford. I guess I loved her too much. It’s a shame, because she was one of the few women who ever really understood me. I mean the real, no – bullshit, rough – around – the – edges Jack D. But hey, that’s life, babe. Seriously
though, her love was nice while it lasted – I’ ll get over it.
Riverside Café was on my right, overlooking a small, rickety pier that housed shrimp boats and a hundred – year – old tugboat. They’d chug up and down the river and out into the Gulf, selling their catch on the Louisiana side too. I guess it’s good business. There’s been good rain and better fishing despite the changes. Probably where I’ ll end up, shrimping or working on the pier, maybe packing ice. It won’t be Eddie Herbert’s Insurance, but work is work, you know?
There’s nothing wrong with a man earning his money. Feed your family and
yourself. Work hard, be honest, and be Southern. And on Sunday? Drink beer and watch football. Take a break, babe.
My chest was filled with nerves. Ms. Harper was a tough woman, even if she was only as tall as a sack of potatoes. She had a bite behind those little red lips, not unlike the prosecutor. I spat in my palm and tried to neaten my mustache and sideburns. I needed some hair wax, but hell, I’d only been a free man for three hours. I pushed through the saloon doors.
“ Ribs?” Ms. Harper was sitting at the bar, her fingers red with sauce and four empty shot glasses turned upside – down. Apparently, she chased her pork with cheap tequila.
“Aren’t you on duty?” I pulled up a stool.
“Off the clock, Mr. Dennis,” she grumbled, chomping away. I could hear her teeth grinding on the bone as she sucked on each gristly piece.
“So, what’s the deal? The court said I wasn’t supposed to leave Bowie. Yet, here
I am at the county line.” It was true. Judge Thompson had said it himself: “You leave this county, boy, and I’ ll have your balls for hood ornaments.” Judge Thompson was a tough guy. A one – legged Vietnam War vet with a thick lisp and a gut like a hippo. I couldn’t help but like the son of a bitch. He reminded me of my dad.
“ Relax, cowboy. You’ re not working the boats. Do you think I want Thompson making my balls into hood ornaments?” she grinned. “ I have something for you in town. It’s not much, but they don’t ask too many questions at this place.”
Harper gnawed on the bone, her fingers stained with hot Louisiana barbecue sauce. If that wasn’t gross enough, she kept using that annoying cowboy talk. I mean, come on, man. I’ve seen a few cows in my day, but I’ve been living my life on the bayou, not on some stupid open range with John Wayne screwing a long – horn on the prairie. The Duke was cool, though.
“ I take it this isn’t a desk job?” I knew it wasn’t. Those days were long gone for Jack D.
Harper chuckled, picking her teeth. “Afraid not, partner ”
“What is it then? Tell me it’s not fast food. I’ ll sell shoes or pack crawfish, but I won’t serve tacos.” I popped the cap off my beer and took a sip. It had been years since I’d had a beer, and no woman could satisfy me like that cold brew did. Besides, beer doesn’t nag, complain, leave, or take your daughters away.
“They need some workers down the road. It’s on Fifth Street, just past St.
Anthony’s. The place used to be an old museum, but a guy named Victor
Gonzales moved in and turned it into a car wash: Vic’s Magic Wash,” she trailed off, maybe because of the shot of Jim Beam she’d just taken.
“Vic’s Magic Wash? Is it a damn theme park or something? Do they need circus performers too?” I tried to be polite. “ I bet you a bottle of Maker’s Mark I can guess your weight. Christ, Harper.”
“ Look, Jack. I don’t think you killed the Brit. He probably got drunk and fell into some power tools. But you’re a parolee now. You’ re not exactly an easy hire.”
“ I’ ll remind you I was never convicted. Those bastards locked me up without following the law.” I hated talking about it. It made my teeth fillings buzz. “Ah, hell. You don’t know the half of it.”
“ Look, I don’t really care. It’s not my job to care. You’ re out on good behavior, and it won’t be easy to get anything going. Take what you can get.”
I couldn’t find the words to say. My tongue felt like a thick Japanese noodle.
One of those big, flat ones you get in soup.
“Got it, cowboy?” She put down the bone and finally started wiping that bloody – looking mouth of hers with those wet wipes. Shit, I’d only been in prison for two years and I’d forgotten about those damn moist towelettes.
“Got it?” Harper repeated, reapplying her lipstick.
“So, I’ m washing cars then?” I asked. But I already knew the answer.