The Devil's Dance Page 8

  “Pig! Cat killer!” Nana kicked and fumed as my sister held her in a bear hug. “You little pervert bastard. Think you can bully me?”

  Meyerson leveled a finger on her. “Keep it up, and I might not be so nice next time. Take you to Big Girl Jail.” He dropped her massive gold lamé handbag on the road next to Heather’s feet.

  “There won’t be a next time,” Heather said as she gripped Nana in an arm bar.

  He laughed and smacked his gum. “Right.” Meyerson slid into his cruiser and sped out of the cul-de-sac like he was running code to something important while Nana yelled a string of obscenities after him. Heather at least waited until he’d turned off the road to let go of Nana and give Meyerson the finger.

  Nana finally gave up screaming profanities and bummed a smoke off my sister then scooped up her bag and checked to see if anything was broken. Nana wore a lavender polyester jogging suit and her thin white hair flowed over her shoulders, nearly hitting her waist. She had no front teeth and reminded me of one of those troll dolls we used to get as kids, if those troll dolls cursed like sailors and chain-smoked.

  Heather and Nana headed my way, both puffing away. I stepped out of the car to greet my grandmother. “Nana.” I opened my arms and she tossed the smoke and hugged me around the waist. I was short, yet towered over my Nana who might have made five-foot-tall in the right shoes.

  “Oooh, so good to see you. Happy you’re home, honey.” She drew back then lifted a ten-dollar bill in the air. “Ten bucks? That’s all you got?”

  “Did you just pickpocket me?” I asked, searching my pants pockets as she hopped in the back of my Honda.

  “Welcome home.” Heather patted the top of my car then got in.

  I fired up the engine before speaking. “Let me get this straight. Meyerson is extorting you?”

  “He’s doing us a favor, Romi.”

  “Please explain how that was a favor, because it sure as hell looked like extortion to me.”

  She slumped back in her seat. “Nana is the only one who can get Daddy to behave, but she—” Heather glared at Nana. “Tends to write hot checks.”

  “Hot checks?” Nana gasped indignantly.

  “And shoplift.”

  Nana drew herself up between the front seats. “They weren’t hot. I was gonna pay them. I have Bingo tonight and I’m wearing my lucky color. And it isn’t stealing. I have a disease.”

  Heather ignored Nana and continued, “Anyway, when the grocery store nabs her, they call the cops. Meyerson intercepts the call and holds Nana until I can come get her. Two hundred bucks is cheaper than the fines and bailing her out of county lock-up, and Meyerson is kind enough to not tow her car, which would be another four hundred. I go return the merchandise and make good on the checks and everyone’s happy.”

  “Why do they let her in the store?”

  “Because I used to work there, and know I’ll make good on her ‘purchases.’”

  Nana scooted between us. “Can you drop me by my car? It’s Bingo night and I feel lucky.” She rubbed my ten-dollar bill between her palms.

  “No wheels for you,” Heather replied, her voice weary. “You’re grounded.” Heather held up a set of Oldsmobile keys then zipped them in a front pocket of her purse.

  “But it’s Bingo night. I always play Bingo,” Nana said in her baby-like voice and I wondered who the adult really was in this equation.

  “You can still go to Bingo. We’ll drop you off. Charles will be there to keep an eye on you. Here’s another twenty.” Heather handed her a stack of fives.

  Nana snagged it and squealed. “Charlie? Oooh, he’s a cutie. Sixty-three. A young stud. I love it when he keeps me company. Don’t wait up. I might get some nooky, you know.”

  “Ew, Nana!” Heather chastised her. “TMI.”

  “Hey, just because I’m old doesn’t mean I don’t have needs, and Charlie’s a red-blooded man with most of his own teeth.”

  Heather turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Can we get her to Bingo before I reconsider OD’ing?”

  “Good plan,” I said and shifted into first. As we drove out of the development, the boys we’d seen on the way in waved us to stop.

  Heather tugged my arm. “It’s okay. Let’s see what they’re up to.” I pulled over and a handsome young teen and his little brother came to the window. Both boys were red-faced and soaked in sweat. “We thought that was you, Miss Heather. Didn’t recognize the car.”

  “Josh, this is my sister, Romi.” She gestured to me and I smiled.

  “Nice to meet you. Wow, that’s a really pretty necklace,” he said, pointing to my St. Jude.

  “Thanks.” I rubbed the medallion. I was glad it was around my neck so Nana couldn’t lift it.

  Josh’s expression darkened. “Sorry about your mom. My dad always says nice things about her.”

  “What’s the problem?” Heather interrupted tersely, shepherding the conversation away from the topic of our mother.

  “Oh, no problem. My dad said you might be able to get me a summer job at the resort.”

  “Sorry. Too young. State minimum’s fifteen. Next year.”

  I couldn’t believe the boy was only fourteen.

  Josh grumbled, “I can do the work of any grown man.”

  Of that, I had no doubt. He was at least five foot nine and nothing but tanned muscle. Though he bore a strong resemblance to his dad, he was a darker version. His wavy brown hair was streaked with gold from hours in the sun.

  Heather patted Josh’s hand. “Just because I can’t get you hired doesn’t mean I can’t get you work. Both of you.”

  Josh grinned. “Talk.”

  “You good swimmers?” she asked.

  “The best.”

  “Can you boys get some snorkeling gear?”

  Keith pushed forward. He was at least six inches shorter than his brother and obviously a few years younger. Just as handsome, only very blonde and had the baby fat of being a kid ready for a growth spurt. “Already got some. Masks, fins, and everything. Dad bought it for us when we spent Spring Break in Padre.”

  “All right,” Heather said. “A lot of those rich folk like to golf, but that don’t mean they’re any good. I’ll tell the landscapers to let you in early, before six and y’all can go fish all those expensive balls out of the water traps. Make sure yer gone by seven thirty. Don’t need anyone complaining.”

  “Why?” Josh asked, clearly not understanding.

  Keith ribbed him. “We dive for the golf balls so we can clean ‘em up and sell them back to the rich folk who lost ‘em.”

  “A born entrepreneur.” Heather pinched his cheek, making the boy even redder. “I’d say twenty bucks for a dozen Titleist balls can make a good chunk of change for boys willing to work hard.”

  “Oh, we work hard.” Josh lifted the metal detector and now I understood what they’d been up to. “Need to work smarter as my dad always says. He was right. This was a waste of time.”

  “No buried treasure, eh?” Heather said, her voice strange.

  “Nothing,” Josh said and wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt, revealing six-pack abs. As I’d remembered, his dad had been the same.

  Keith jutted out a dusty palm. “But we found these cool arrowheads.”

  “Those are cool,” Heather said. I noted her gaze drifted to one of the hills and lingered. After a moment, she snapped back to the moment. “Y’all need a ride back?”

  “Nah, but thanks,” Josh said. “Dad’s gonna come get us in an hour so we can go run. We start football practice soon and he wants us used to running in the heat.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said.

  “Can be.” Josh shrugged and I still couldn’t believe he was only fourteen. Some gal would have quite a man in the future.

  “We’re gonna scan that area over there ‘til my dad gets here.” He pointed to a mound of earth the bulldozers had piled to even the terrain later.

  Nana reached her hand out the window for Josh’s hand. “Here,
I’m giving you some of my lucky. Got loads of it today. Go find your treasure.”

  Josh smiled. “Thanks Nana Lachlan. Here’s some Bingo money. He withdrew a crumpled wad of ones from his cargo shorts and pressed it in her palm. I wondered if everyone in the town was enabling my grandmother’s gambling addiction.

  “Such a good boy,” Nana chirped and added the bills to her growing stash. I was starting to believe the old woman was charmed. She’d managed to get her granddaughter to deal drugs so she could avoid jail, and then somehow made thirty-five bucks in the ten minutes since she’d left police custody.

  We waved goodbye and dropped Nana at Bingo. With her out of the car, I could finally ask the question that had been plaguing me for the past half hour. I braced, afraid of the answers I might get. “Why don’t you let Nana go to jail? If she has these compulsive habits, they have doctors who can treat her and you wouldn’t have to be selling Daddy’s meds to pay off Meyerson.”

  “First of all, I’d love to let her get nabbed, but Meyerson always intercepts the calls. He knows he has me over a barrel. He’s protected by the mayor and that makes him untouchable. Turn up ahead.” She pointed as I drove.

  “I thought you said he’d moved to Miami.”

  “He did. Washed out, moved back and suddenly was Ferris’s golden boy.”

  “How did he pass the psych evaluation?”

  “Friends in high places go a long way. You of all people should know that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rich folk ignore the laws and leave the mess for the rest of us, or have you heard from that fiancé? He wasn’t happy robbing everyone in the company, he had to clean you out, too?”

  I had no good answer.

  She tightened her ponytail. “I’ve been dealing with predators my whole life. Think it was bad when you were here? You have no idea.” Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette.

  “You didn’t fall over Gizmo. Meyerson did that to you. That’s what he meant, earlier when he said I’d learn like you.”

  “No, Romi. It isn’t that. It’s much deeper and you need to leave it be,” she said.

  “Deep. I’d say I am already in pretty deep.”

  “You don’t know what deep is, and you sure as hell don’t have a dog in this fight. Trust me.”

  I started to argue but Heather looked like the day had already had enough fighting so I backed off. “Fair enough. But I’m here for you.”

  “I know you are. And Nana’s a thorn in my butt, but she’s good with Daddy. He’s in constant pain and she’s the only one who can calm him down. He’s changed. Meaner than ever. I don’t have the energy to handle him alone.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. I have to go to work in a few hours. Please take me home. I gotta get some sleep.”

  “Sleep. Sounds like a plan. Can I stop for a few supplies on the way home?”

  “Sure. Go by the Piggle Wiggle. I owe them money. Also need to pick up Nana’s Olds.”

  “Piggle Wiggle?”

  “Vietnamese knock-off, but apparently not a big enough threat to bring down the iron fist of the real Piggly Wiggly. Same family owns the only fried chicken joint in town, Pop-Aye’s Chicken on Travis Avenue,” she said and chuckled. As I drove, I watched my sister from the corner of my eye. So smart and stunning. Why had she settled for this? Not that I was one to give life coaching advice, but it seemed very wrong that someone like Heather would end up stuck in Bisby with no future.

  And now? We were both stuck.

  Chapter Six

  I hovered in the doorway of my new home until my sister was inside her trailer. She’d driven home Nana’s titanic Oldsmobile then given me the keys so I’d have something legal to drive. I strained to hear any signs of fighting, but everything was quiet, which somehow unnerved me more. I sat in the cracked plastic chair left by the former tenant. My old home peeked back at me over the mangled mounds of rubble. Off to the west, the sun had lowered enough to paint the hillsides in sepia tones. Coyotes howled somewhere in the hills and fatigue tried to invade my bones. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days, and if I sat much longer the mosquitoes would make me a blood buffet. I went to my car for my CD player, but to my dismay, it was gone. Damn. I’d left the CD player in reach of Nana. The woman knew no boundaries. I thought about running by the pawnshop near where she played Bingo, but I didn’t have it in me. I unloaded the bags of cleaning supplies and lugged them inside. While checking out at Piggle Wiggle, my sister asked me if I held stock in Clorox.

  The trailer wasn’t quite empty. An old orange and mustard yellow couch squatted next to a cheap wooden floor lamp with a nicotine-stained shade. When I peered in the one tiny bedroom, I spied an old mattress on the floor, stripped of its sheets. The air inside was thick with dust and the ghosts of old cigarettes, their stench clinging to my hair and skin. I tried turning on the window unit, but it made a scary high-pitched keening noise, so I shut it off before it could burst into flames.

  Plan B.

  After checking for spiders and scorpions, I opened all the windows to get some fresh air flowing. I’d been living without AC for months, so heat didn’t bother me. A nice dusty breeze quickly made the temperature inside not only bearable, but almost pleasant. I needed a couple items I highly suspected might be found in my father’s heaps of castaway appliances.

  In my teen years, my dad drew a gun on me not once, but twice, when he mistook me for a home invader. I was grateful Daddy at least took time to identify his targets before shooting, but didn’t want to take any chances. I padded pile to pile, squinting in the dimness of twilight and the faint glow of the bug light on my porch. Every few moments, I’d check the door for any signs someone heard me. Finally, I spotted a rusty metal stepstool underneath half an old Schwinn bicycle. I tiptoed through the stacks of twisted metal and broken boards keeping an eye out for rattlers. The trailer needed some ventilation, meaning I needed a fan. Though I could go buy one, odds were my father would have at least three buried somewhere in these piles. Why spend money I didn’t have to? A squeaking noise made me jump, but then I realized it was some nighttime critter, probably a possum. I felt like such a jerk, pilfering through my dad’s things without permission, but I already knew the answer. No. Daddy always had three answers to everything. No. Hell no. And, not no, hell no. He was simple that way.

  I had to face my father and let him know I was home, but getting caught shoplifting from his personal junkyard probably wasn’t an ideal way to get reunited. After a good ten minutes carefully picking through shadowy spider-infested mounds, I hit pay dirt. I found an old metal oscillating fan with a heavy cord that appeared to still be intact. The fan had all its blades, a solid cage, and a heavy steel base, an old SEARS’s model from the 70s. My father collected a lot of junk, but a lot of it was good junk and the arid climate here kept things well preserved.

  Mom and him had fought nonstop about his hoarding. She’d sold and donated as fast as he could collect. Of course, she also fought his constant tormenting of my sister and me. I was always ugly and Heather was infinitely stupid and nothing we did was ever enough. Every so often he’d show a softer side and teach us to shoot, properly use a knife or fix things. Though that side of my father rarely made an appearance after Mom left, it showed with enough regularity to leave us infinitely conflicted about how we felt about the man. My mother told us Dad never expected girls and didn’t know what to do. She’d always been his strongest defender, and then she left.

  Just like that.

  I stared longingly at his front door, my pillaged goods in my arms. I wanted to ask his permission, but I couldn’t take a confrontation or a no so I struggled up the stairs. I’d return them later anyway.

  Grateful to be back inside, I plugged the fan in the living room, praying my father had picked a winner. I needed the fan work, and not burn down my house. Two basic prerequisites for appliances and men. I used electrical tape to patch the worn places in the cord
then plugged it in. Cool air.

  By nightfall, the trailer no longer smelled like a pile of towels decaying in an old ashtray, but the walls were in desperate need of paint. The old owner smoked so much the nicotine had left outlines where pictures once hung. I didn’t know why I cared. Not like I’d be here much longer. No need to get too comfortable. I wondered what I’d do in thirty days, but thinking of my future had long since lost its appeal. I sank to the couch to rest, but then sensed my emotions trying to rise out of this hollow emptiness inside. I was afraid if I started crying I wouldn’t stop, and there was still too much to do.

  I’d cry later.

  I slipped on my apron and gloves and disinfected the refrigerator, bleached and scrubbed all the shelves, trays, and drawers. When I removed the drain pan, I screamed at the decaying mouse in a pool of sludge. I scrambled outside and hosed it, used a half a bottle of bleach to kill any remaining primordial ooze then left the pan sitting on the porch with another half-inch of bleach to shrivel any microbe that dared remain alive. Once finished with the refrigerator and kitchen, I headed for the bathroom, hell bent to make the toilet, sink, and tubs white again, but not before moving the fan into the hallway so I didn’t kill myself with chemical fumes.

  As I scrubbed the cheap fiberglass tub, I tried to formulate a plan. I could do this. I could get a job and help Heather save enough money to find a new place, maybe even enough to make a new life in another state. I was tired of the heat and thought of a brief summer trip I’d taken to Washington State with my only college friend. We threw papers together every night, and, after tuition and books, we’d squirreled enough money to pay someone to run our route so we could get a few days off. Tabby and I rented a cabin and walked the rocky beaches and hiked for a week. How I’d loved the hammered metal skies over a world of green living things. She’d loved it too and, a year later, when she died after being t-boned by a drunk while running her route, I heard her family scattered her ashes in Puget Sound. I’d wanted to go to the memorial, but had finals and one professor unwilling to budge and change the date. I missed Tabby almost as much as my mom.