The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [17]
“We need a place to stay for a couple days, sis,” Leonard said. “Can we come in and talk about it?”
“You are in,” she said, then sighed. “Okay, c’mon. I think there’s some beers in the fridge.” She turned and walked back into the house. DeWayne and Leonard followed. A short hallway led towards the living room. A door to the right about halfway down the hallway opened into the kitchen. Leonard dropped the bag on the floor across from the kitchen door.
“Look like you’re sleepin’ late, Crys,” DeWayne said. “Livin’ a life o’ leisure, huh?”
“Fuck you, DeWayne,” she said. She sat at the kitchen table, which was piled with newspapers. She gestured at the fridge. “Help yourselves.”
There was no beer in the refrigerator, and no food other than a jar of mustard and a can of cat food with a plastic lid.Finally, DeWayne located a half-empty bottle of Popov Vodka in the freezer. He made a happy noise and sat down at the table across from Crystal. He took a drink straight from the bottle.
She looked from one to the other with a mixture of resentment and resignation. “Well?” she said. “What’s all this about?”
Leonard explained the situation to her. Her expression never changed. He finished by saying, “So we just need to lay up here for a couple days, till we can figger out where to go. Okay, sis?”
She blew out a long streamer of smoke. “Yeah, okay,” she said finally. “But y’all gotta be careful. This is a quiet neighborhood. People work nights, sleep days. You start raisin’ hell,” she looked at DeWayne, “and you’re gonna have the cops all over this place.”
DeWayne gave her a lopsided grin and took another pull from the bottle. “No problemo, sweet thing,” he said.
There was a muffled beeping noise from the handbag hung over one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit,” Crystal said. “What time is it?”
Leonard looked at the clock over the stove. It was stopped. “Ahhh...about five-thirty,” he guessed.
Crystal swore under her breath. She pulled a small black beeper out of the purse and looked at the screen. She shook her head. She picked an old-style rotary phone up off the floor next to the table and dialed.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said. She listened for a moment. “I can’t tonight,” she said. “I got company.” There was a burst of angry speech on the other end. “No, no, it’s notI’m not she was having trouble getting a word out. Finally, the voice on the other end said something that caused her eyes to widen. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I just got up. I will. I will, I promise.” She hung up the phone and looked off
into the distance for a moment, chewing her lower lip. “I gotta go,” she said, and stood up. “I gotta go to work.”
Leonard and DeWayne looked at each other. “Hey, Crys,” DeWayne said finally, if your boss is givin’ you any trouble, we can, you know...”
“No, no,” she said. “It’ll be alright. It’s okay. They’re just-- short-handed.”
“At a titty bar?” DeWayne said.
Her eyes narrowed and snapped around to bear on DeWayne. “You mind your own damn business, DeWayne, you hear?”
Both of the men put up their hands. “Easy, Crys, take it easy,” Leonard said. He used the soothing tone of voice he had developed through years of intercession between his sister and their cousin. Crystal got up and walked out of the kitchen.
“The fuck’s eating her?” DeWayne wondered. Leonard shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “We need to get us some food. And we’re outta beer.” He stood up, put his hands in the middle of his back and stretched. “Gettin’ too old for this shit,” he muttered. He walked into the living room, with DeWayne following.
The old farmhouse was in the middle of what John Lee referred to as “Bum-fuck Egypt.” It fronted on a narrow two-lane road and was surrounded on the other three sides by tobacco fields. An enormous oak tree dominated the front yard. A row of crepe myrtle obscured the lower half of the screened in porch that ran along the front of the house. The