“You say that like Deddy was a good man.”
“No, he wasn’t. Gareth wasn’t a good man. But for a long time, neither was I. We come up together surrounded by all this.” Val lifted his arms out, motioning around him. “We had each other’s backs. Nowadays, that kinda thinkin’ don’t even exist no more, and I want no part of what happens up here.”
Darby drained his cup, suffered the burn, and poured another. Val picked up the jug and took a swig directly from it. No reaction, like he was drinking water.
“That shit they’re makin’ up here ain’t just a drug. It’s evil, plain and simple. Your deddy was the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever known, and as soon as your brothers brought that shit up here, it killed him.”
“The drugs didn’t kill him, Val.”
“The hell they didn’t.”
“Cricket told me your daddy died in a fire,” Darby said.
Clayton scratched at his beard. “That’s the story Halford would have everyone believe, but the truth is he blew himself up learning how to cook that shit. You’d think the high-and-mighty king of Bull Mountain wouldn’t go out like some lowly city tweeker, but in the end, that’s exactly how it went down.”
“You should have more respect, little Burroughs. He was your father, and despite his failings, he only did as his deddy did before him. You want to put that anger on somebody, you put it on your grandfather. That’s where this family went wrong. Nobody deserves to die like your deddy did. He died screaming. You ever see somebody burn to death?”
Clayton had.
“It was your grandfather let loose the demons on this mountain, and there ain’t no putting that genie back in the bottle. Never was. Not then, not now.”
“Wilcombe had a little something to do with it.” Again Clayton put that name out there to see the reaction he’d get. This time he got one. Val put the jug down.
“How do you know that name?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know everything about what Hal’s got going on in Florida. I know my father partnered with those people and Hal is keeping it going. Feds are ready to march on this mountain and burn it all down, along with all the people on it—people I don’t want to see get caught up in the crossfire, if you get my meaning. I’m up here on damage control, hoping to save some lives, and nobody wants to fucking listen.”
“You ain’t gotta cuss me, boy.”
“Sorry, Val. It’s just frustrating. I’m not ready to write this place off. Katie keeps telling me it’s a lost cause, Hal just wants to kick my ass, and now you don’t even want to hear how all this might end peacefully.”
Val reached two enormous hands out and grabbed the side of Clayton’s rocker, stilling it. “You listen up, boy. You need to go back down to that little lady of yours and listen to what she has to say. Live your life in that valley, policing decent folk. Nothing up here will ever end peacefully. I’ve come to terms with that, and anybody making a home here has as well. You need to stay away from here and count yourself lucky that what your granddeddy did to your deddy and brothers didn’t take on you. That’s the peaceful ending you’re looking for. You surviving all this mess. You and Kate growing old together and having a baby, the good Lord willin’. That’s the best ending I can think of. If it’s time for Bull Mountain to pay for its sins by way of these federal agents, then so be it. You just stay clear. It’s time, and believe me when I tell you, all us sons-a-bitches that walked this road, we deserve it.” Val spoke that last part quietly, remorsefully, and into his lap.
Clayton stared off into the thick expanse of forest that surrounded Val’s home. After a minute or so of listening to the trees sway in the warm wind, it was Darby who broke the silence. “If the feds know everything, like locations and key players,” he said, “then why don’t they just send in some kinda stealth team to take them all out without a big show?”
“Because that’s not how things work up here,” Clayton said. “You can’t sneak up on the man who has spent his life in the woods sneaking up on things. They’ve tried it before. People died and nothing changed.”
“So go home, boy,” Val said, as if suddenly validated by Clayton’s own words. “Go home and stop this foolishness. Stop thinkin’ you can right something that was born wrong.”
Clayton rolled the red plastic cup between his palms and snorted out a dry, humorless laugh. He held up the cup in a toast. “To being born wrong,” he said, and drank the cup empty without waiting for a response. It stung the split in his lip but went down welcome and easy.
2.
“Drop me at Lucky’s.”
“But this is your vehicle, sir.”