A Bad Boy is Good to Find

chapter 15

“If it’s still there, it’s down the end of this road.” The hair on the back of Con’s neck stood on end as he steered the Jeep into the cool shadows of the familiar cypress swamp. He’d half expected the trees to have blown away or sunk or been cut down. They weren’t all that far from the big house where they were staying, but it felt like another world. Neat trailers with cars in their driveways flanked the narrow road and reassured him that they were still in ordinary America, not on a trip into a murky underworld he might not come back from alive. He was glad most of the homes looked tidy and well kept. He didn’t want Lizzie, or anyone else, to get the wrong impression.

Though why he should care, he had no idea.

“So is this Mudbug Flats?” Lizzie’s voice sounded tight.

“Not yet. Mudbug Flats is kind of the end of the line. We’ll get there soon.”

The line of houses came to an end and trees crowded the road. They went a stretch of half a mile or more without any sign of human habitation. They had the windows up to keep the A/C in and the bugs out, but he itched to roll them down and inhale the sweet honey smell of the swamp, to fill his ears with the lively bustle of birds and insects. Right now he could feel the camera trained on his right ear as he drove. Could smell Dino’s acrid sweat.

As they emerged from the darkest grove of trees his stomach tightened. His mind expected to see the pale blue walls of Tim LeJean’s old place. Nothing.

“This is the town.” His voice caught as the Jeep hung up on a pothole in the road and they lurched forward. Lizzie steadied herself with a hand on the dash.

“What town? I don’t see anything.”

Me either. A nasty cold sensation snuck up his back. Miss Dee’s store used to be right there on the left, big oil drums of produce stacked in front of the porch, fishermen smoking in the plastic chairs outside. He didn’t see anything there now except an overgrown clearing. Was the town totally destroyed? Gone?

No. A wall appeared through the thick cypress canopy and came into view as they drove further. “That’s the Gaudry place.” Relief loosened his chest. Joe Gaudry’s cabin looked solid and immovable as ever on its high pilings, sun beating down on the gray wood. “Shall we go see if anyone’s home?” He had a powerful urge to talk to someone. Even mean old Joe Gaudry. Get a heads-up on what to expect.

Procrastinate.

“No, let’s keep going to your place. We can come back.”

“Okay.” No turning back now.

Would Danny be there?

A rocket flash of anticipation surged through him and stung his fingers. A painful swell of hope and fear made him grip the steering wheel tighter.

You abandoned him.

Shame crept over him, and a host of shadowy memories loomed like the ancient cypress. A smart new trailer on the right caught his eye, and he wondered who lived there. Two yellow lawn chairs flanked a colorful kid’s wading pool. A neat ring of yellow flowers surrounded a statue of the blessed virgin.

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our…

The Jeep slammed into another pothole. The blacktop had deteriorated once they entered Mudbug Flats. Not surprising, since the population seemed to have largely vanished. He glanced at Lizzie.

“You alright?” The look of genuine concern in her eyes touched him someplace that hurt.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. The camera was trained on him, but somehow it didn’t bother him. It felt almost natural, like the eye of God.

God? What the hell was he thinking about God for? Was God now haunting the swamp he’d abandoned all those years ago?

He realized his chest was heaving. The click of his mother’s rosary beads flashed into his memory.

Holy Mary, mother…

He slammed on the brakes. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” Lizzie lurched forward then turned to him, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ears.

“I didn’t tell you… I don’t… I can’t…” He couldn’t formulate words or thoughts as painful memories rushed his brain. Thoughts he’d shoved down and locked up for years pushed to the forefront of his consciousness.

Lizzie’s hand touched his arm, her fingers soft, squeezing the skin.

“It’s okay.” She sounded wary, like she didn’t believe it.

“It isn’t,” he whispered. He could hear the camera whirring. “It isn’t okay.”

“Con,” she said softly. “I don’t know what’s out there for you, but I do know that you need to face it.” She squeezed his arm again.

Their eyes met. For once there wasn’t a trace of anger, malice or cruelty in her face. Just compassion. “You know you do.”

Something stirred in his heart, and he nodded and jerked the stick shift back into drive.

What was he afraid of? The old man and his fists? The camera was protection, not that he needed it anymore. He wasn’t a skinny kid cowering under the house. He took a deep breath.

Danny wouldn’t be there. He’d be twenty-one by now, gone off to lead his own life, if he’d lived long enough to have one. The grim realization brought an emptiness that almost passed for calm.

Lizzie’s hand stayed on his arm as he drove. She rubbed it, intending to be reassuring, but her touch stirred up more anxiety. She’d regret this maybe more than he would.

He wasn’t going to be able to play it the way she wanted.

His blood pressure ratcheted as he noticed Remy’s house was gone. Just the stilts were left, poking up out of black dirt. The road itself was dirt now too, flecked with an occasional hunk of tarmac, but looking like it washed out regularly.

And there it was.

Nothing.

He threw the car into park, jerking them all forward again.

One ragged wooden stilt stuck up out of the muddy dirt.

Nothing and no one there.

“This is the place,” he muttered. So low he could barely hear his own voice. “Must have washed away.”

Lizzie had a hand pressed to her mouth.

A terrible wave of relief swept over him, followed by an undertow of guilt. Was this really it?

Oh, yes. He could feel pain and anger still lodged in the damn trees.

He jumped out of the car. The ground squelched beneath his feet. Wetter than it used to be, sinking into the swamp around them. The road continued on through the trees, but not for much further, he’d bet.

All gone. Except the memories, and he’d sure tried to get rid of those. As shadows of the past crowded toward him, he stiffened his back, like a gladiator ready to fight for his life in the ring. He was angry as hell and done keeping quiet. If Lizzie didn’t like it she had no one but herself to blame.

She climbed out the Jeep and picked her way toward him. Her sandals sank into the dark mud.

“Home sweet home,” he said coolly.

She hugged herself. Smacked at a mosquito on her arm. Her trendy outfit left her exposed and her forehead creased into a pained expression that softened him. Almost.



What had she expected? Lizzie figured it would be a shack in a swamp and here they were, the remains of a shack in a swamp. She was relieved there were no actual people here, but she’d never really thought there would be.

So where was her thrill of victory?

Con walked toward what was left of the stilt foundation and she followed, stick-littered mud squishing under her feet.

“This was the house,” he said, scratching his head. He seemed to have regained his cool. “Up on stilts, ’cause as you can see, it gets wet around here. Two rooms.” He gave a grim little smile that felt like a stab in her gut. “This what you expected?”

She nodded. Bit her lip.

“The bayou’s right back there. You can see it if you’re up a bit higher. We used to get around by boat. Didn’t have a car except for one time when my dad won a few dollars in the lottery. Gone soon enough though.”

He rested his hand on the blackened wood stump of the one remaining stilt. Stared right at her, his eyes black and focused.

Cool? He’d turned cold as ice.

She shuddered.

Are you happy now? His angry stare demanded the question.

Shame heated her face and scattered her thoughts. Had she thought it would be funny that he came from what was—at least to her—grim poverty?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What for? It’s not your fault I grew up dirt-poor. That some days I didn’t eat. That my parents were alcoholics.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

After a long pause he looked down at the dark earth, then back up at her. “It’s not your fault that my dad killed my mom, beat her to death.”

Her blood froze.

Con stared, black eyes seeing right through her, into some horrible otherworld. “He said it was an accident, that she fell out of the boat. Drowned. But I saw him do it. I was right there the whole time. Watching. Just like you’re watching me now.”

Lizzie shuddered. Groped for words. For breath.

“And I lied. Lied for two goddam years. Kept his filthy secret and betrayed my mother’s memory. Scared of his fists. Scared of being alone. Scared to death and wishing I was dead.”

He hadn’t moved a muscle.

Her hands shook and her breath came in gulps.

“He may be out there right now, walking around with blood on his hands. But I’m done keeping his secret.” He stared at her, eyes fierce, voice low. “I’m done keeping his secret.”

She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Finally Con broke the stare, shook his head and blew out a blast of air.

“I told you it was a long story, but it’s not so long after all, is it? Just a few words.”

She struggled for air. “Let’s go. We’ll leave right now. Go back to New York.” Her voice was shaking.

“No. No, we won’t.” The resolve in his dark eyes stole her breath. “We’re here now. I’ve been running from this place half my life, and I’m not running anymore.”

At that moment the van carrying the rest of the crew rattled into view. Lizzie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

She wanted to reach out to Con, but his rigid bearing dared her to try it, like she’d get an electric shock if she touched him. She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She realized Dino was still rolling, recording everything.

Maisie leaped out of the white van, clipboard in hands. “This the place?” She looked disapprovingly at the black stump next to Con. “Not much left, is there?”

“Um, Maisie.” Dino took the camera off his shoulder. “You need to see this.”

“See what? There isn’t anything to see.”

“The footage. Con just… um.” He looked at Con, then at Maisie. “You need to see it, that’s all.”

Maisie and Dino climbed into the van. Lizzie walked toward Con, slow, rigid and awkward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Did you really want to know?” His voice was quiet, his face expressionless.

No. “Yes. Of course. How can you carry a secret like that?”

“By burying it down real deep and pretending it isn’t there.” He looked down at the black mud, his voice toneless.

“By pretending you’re someone else?” she whispered.

He met her gaze. “Yes.”

The back doors of the van exploded open. “What do you mean by turning off the camera?” screeched Maisie at Dino. “Keep filming and don’t stop until I tell you.”

Lizzie cringed as Maisie stalked up to them, pale eyes flashing.

“Conroy—” Maisie turned to make sure Dino was filming. “Conroy, you’ve just shared some very painful revelations.” She positioned herself so as not to block the camera’s view of either Con or Lizzie. “Is it a relief to get this dark secret off your chest?”

He just stared at her.

Maisie sucked in a breath. “Your father killed your mother, right here on this spot.”

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Again he just looked at her, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“Do you feel angry?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel sad?”

“Yes.”

Leave him alone. Lizzie fought the urge to take his hand, which hung by his side only inches from hers. She still didn’t dare touch him. The whole situation seemed hotwired, explosive.

“Did your father ask you to lie for him?”

“There was no asking,” said Con, face composed. “He told us what to say, and we knew better than to cross him.”

“He used to beat you?”

“All the time.”

Maisie’s overdone expression of compassion made Lizzie’s hands clench into fists.

“You said us just now. Who else was there? Did you have brothers and sisters?”

A long pause drew out into a painful silence. Mosquitoes buzzed in the thick hot air, and Lizzie felt one sting her right ankle. She didn’t move.

“Yes. I have a brother.” Con’s voice was hoarse.

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Ten years ago.” His voice cracked. His bearing was still rigid, regal, hostile even. But Lizzie could feel something breaking inside him. Her hand itched to take hold of his.

She’d brought him here, thrown him into this hell of past nightmares, and now she wanted to comfort him?

She didn’t have the right.

“What was his name?”

“Danny.”

Lizzie could see Maisie’s growing irritation at Con’s terse answers. Maisie tucked a stray piece of fine hair behind her ear and took a deep breath.

“Tell us, Conroy. When did you leave this place and how?”

Con shifted. Lizzie shifted too, a semiconscious mirroring of his movement. The spongy mud had crept up into her sandals.

“I left here when I was fourteen. My dad had beaten me, like he always did, for doing something, or not doing something, or for just being—I don’t even remember what it was about—but I knew at that moment that the next time he hit me, I was going to hit back.” Con raised a hand and wiped it over his mouth. “I knew I was going to hit back and try to kill him.” He stared off into the dark swamp. “So one of us would be dead, either him or me. I’d be dead, or a murderer. So I had to go. I just took off. Didn’t take nothing with me. Just left and didn’t come back.”

“And you left your brother behind.” Maisie spoke very quietly, which gave the words the force of a secret, an accusation.

Con’s sweat stung Lizzie’s nostrils. Her own perspiration trickled down her back like a scratching nail.

“I left him behind. I told him I was leaving and that I couldn’t take him with me. I didn’t know how to survive on my own, let alone with a kid, and I figured things might be easier for him with me gone. More to eat with one less person around.” He hesitated, looked at the ground, then lifted his eyes and looked right at Maisie. “I rationalized it.” Lizzie could see his chest heaving beneath his shirt. “I’ll never forgive myself for that. Never.”

“Did you ever try to get in contact again, with either of them?”

“No.”

Lizzie shuddered.

“Do you want to find out what happened to them?”

Con’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “Yes.”

They all stood like statues for a moment. Lizzie could almost hear the blood humming in her head like the mosquitoes outside it. Maisie shoved her hair back. “Cut. Thanks, Conroy, I’m sure that was hard for you. So shall we go talk to the neighbors, see what they know about your family?”

Con looked at her for a moment, then nodded. His expression serious and dignified. Very controlled.

“Alright, let me just talk to the crew, and we’ll roll to the next house down the road.” She strode back to the van, all business.

Lizzie pressed her hand over her mouth. Spoke through her fingers. “I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t. Why would you?” He wasn’t looking at her. “It’s weird how clean the place looks. There used to be a rusty boat hull I slept in sometimes, right over there.” He turned and nodded at a patch of woods. “I’ll bet you were hoping for some junk to give the place a colorful redneck flavor. Sorry to disappoint.”

Lizzie bit her lip. His tone was cruel. Worse yet, he was right. How could he talk so normally after that revelation? But of course it wasn’t a revelation to him. It was something he’d carried with him, every day, for the last ten years.

“Maybe the house got washed away in a hurricane,” she rasped.

“Yeah. Most people would have come down here to check on the place after a big storm. See if their family was okay, if they needed help, don’t you think?”

His look challenged her to respond.

“I… I…” She didn’t know what to say. There were no right answers.

“I didn’t.” He let out a harsh sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Deep down, I was hoping the place—and everyone in it—was gone. Washed from the face of the earth. Then maybe my guilt would be gone too.”

He wiped a hand over his mouth. “But nothing’s ever really gone, is it? It lives on in here.” He tapped his forehead. “You can’t get rid of that.” He shook his head. “I’ve damn sure tried.”

He stared around him, and Lizzie bit her tongue. Sure that anything she said would be a mistake.

“Come see the bayou.” He reached out his hand. She looked at it like a snake that might bite, then gingerly took it. He gripped her hand hard, crushing her fingers together. She caught her breath and stumbled after him as he pulled her past the footprint of the house, into some scraggly undergrowth. He pushed through some damp, scratchy branches. “None of this brush was here. Place must have been uninhabited for years.” A branch scratched her arm and a twig poked at her exposed toes. Her hair snagged, and she wrenched it loose.

“There it is.”

Just through the thicket, they emerged on the bank of a river. The mud oozed thicker, closing over her toes, but Con didn’t seem to notice as he pulled her right to the edge. Murky blackish water gleamed in the midday sun. Lizzie shivered, despite the heat. Con gripped her hand with force, no hint of tenderness.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Beautiful? No. Strange and terrifying. All that glittering dark water looked like a bottomless chasm. An abyss that held at least one skeleton.

“Look, a heron.”

He pointed with his free hand as a huge, Wedgewood-blue bird took flight from a branch high above their heads. Lizzie flinched as it dove like a movie-screen pterodactyl, menacing in its great size and eerie color. Its beak cleaved the shining water, then with a massive flapping and splashing, it soared up again to the treetops.

“I haven’t seen one of those in years. I spent hours studying their fishing technique, trying to figure out how to do that. Great way to get wet and come up empty-handed.” He stared up at the now empty sky. “I always wished I could fly like a bird.”

How could he be so calm? Carry on a normal conversation as if he hadn’t just declared himself—on camera—to be witness to a murder? It was a burden he’d lived with and carefully hidden. Had spared her—until now.

She bit back tears that threatened.

Angry speech and rustling in the undergrowth heralded the arrival of Dino and Maisie.

“We didn’t know where you went,” hissed Maisie. “Why didn’t you wait for the camera?”

“Didn’t think of it. Sorry,” said Con. Cool as the rippling water. “I was showing Lizzie my home. This is where I really lived, out here on the bayou.”

“Are there alligators in it?” asked Maisie, wriggling her way into the shot.

“Sure.” Con flashed an alligator smile.

Lizzie searched the undergrowth anxiously, her skin prickling. He softened his grip on her hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “You can never be quite sure what to expect around here.”

Lizzie swallowed, took in a deep breath.

“Want to see how Mudbug Flats got its name?”

“Yes,” said Maisie. “I can see it’s flat. And mudbug is a colloquialism for crayfish, isn’t it?”

Con flashed another gator grin. “That’s right. A colloquialism.” His heavy emphasis on the word made it sound ridiculous.

He dropped Lizzie’s hand and moved a couple of feet along the bank. He crouched down and reached right into the mud. Pulled his hand back with a wriggling thing in it.

“Here.”

Lizzie cringed as he held it out to her, all flailing claws and spikes. He looked at her, waiting for her to take it.

“You got to watch out for the claws. They’ll give you quite a pinch.”

It was a challenge, and she knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch the nasty greenish-brown lobster-y thing.

“May I?” Maisie held out her slim hand.

Con placed the creature gently in it, and Maisie closed her hand around its tail. Beady black eyes surveyed the humans and claws waved.

“The tail meat is delicieux. You can boil ’em in salt water, or just eat ’em raw if you’re really hungry.”

“Raw?” Maisie sounded curious. Lizzie’s stomach curdled. Was Maisie going to snap its head off and eat sushi right there? “I’ll ask the chef to procure some. Perhaps we can eat them for dinner tonight.” She handed it back to Con, casual as if it was a handkerchief she’d borrowed.

“I can procure some right now, if you like.” He said, expressionless, holding the squirming creature. “They’re all around us. Easy to spot if you know what to look for.”

“I think we have bigger fish to fry,” said Maisie softly.

Con swallowed. “Yeah, I guess we do.” He put the crayfish back in its burrow and wiped his hand on his pants. “I guess we do.”