Twenty minutes later Titus was pulling into the parking lot of the Watering Hole. The rotating rack of blue and red lights on top of Davy’s cruiser cast ghostly images on the side of the brick building. Unlike many local bars in this part of Virginia, the Watering Hole was a freestanding structure, not a suite in a strip mall. A rugged rectangle with a squared-off roof that resembled the cardboard boxes Titus had used to file active case reports at the Bureau, the Watering Hole wasn’t the only bar in Charon County, but it was the one most people patronized. The Celtic Tavern usually picked up the scraps that the Watering Hole left behind. Folks who had been banned by Jasper for various slights or offenses, or people who balked at the seven-dollar cover charge.
Jasper felt no compunction charging his customers to cross his threshold. He had a live band four nights out of seven. Comedy shows and open mic nights were sprinkled across the calendar to add some variety. Jasper had recently updated his sound system and added a fancy LED light system for the stage. He was constantly adding the newest or most expensive hospitality accessory to the Watering Hole’s skill set.
Titus put his SUV in park.
One of the first things Titus had noticed when he took office was how much money seemed to be moving through the Watering Hole, for a local bar in a small rural county of less than twenty thousand people. It seemed like Jasper was a creative financial genius. He was squeezing this desolate turnip out on the far edge of the county and blood was pouring forth in copious amounts.
That was one scenario.
Titus was of the mind that Jasper Sanderson was moving heroin, meth, and whatever other illicit substances he could get his hands on through his bar in quantities that could choke a horse. In the year since Titus had been elected, there had been twenty-two overdoses within a five-mile radius of the bar. Ben and Wayne had left the Watering Hole an hour before they were found percolating in the middle of Severn Road. Several informants had sworn in affidavits that Jasper had a connection to a chapter of the Rare Breed motorcycle club, who got him as much China White and high-quality meth as he could handle. Titus had broken up a fight in the parking lot and found two ounces of crank on one of the combatants. Chucky Crowder had said he’d testify that Jasper and his cousin Cotton had supplied him with eight ounces of methamphetamine. Titus had gone to the Regional Drug Task Force and made his case for a multi-county raid, but no one in Hampton seemed much interested in putting Jasper in an orange jumpsuit. The lack of interest made Titus think Jasper must have some good friends. Then Chucky Crowder skipped town, minus most of his teeth. Carla said her cousin, who had an on-again, off-again thing with Cotton, told her Cotton had the teeth in a jar in the back office of the bar.
Titus got out of the truck and walked over to Davy and Pip. They were standing in front of the bar. A small crowd had gathered nearby, full of swaying patrons who felt safe in their inebriation by virtue of the police’s preoccupation with the handcuffed men sitting on the front step of the bar.
“Davy, Pip. What’s the deal?” Titus said. Davy bit his bottom lip. Pip pushed his hat back on his head, revealing a small wine-colored birthmark that resembled Florida above his right eye.
“Well, it seems like your brother here took offense to something Austin McCormick said and decided to make him eat a barstool. Austin’s buddy Brent Johnson didn’t think Austin had an appetite for barstools and tried to intervene. He’s headed to Riverside General with what’s left of his face. Austin here fared a little better.”
Titus sucked at his teeth. Austin was Cotton and Jasper’s cousin.
He approached Marquis.
His brother was roughly the same height as Titus, but Marquis was a bit wider across the chest. He was wearing a white T-shirt and an unbuttoned red flannel shirt. There were huge blotches of red on his white T-shirt shaped like uncharted islands. A small mouse was growing under his left eye. Other than that there wasn’t a mark on him. Titus was fairly sure the blotches were blood and he was positive the blood didn’t belong to Marquis. His brother’s hands were cuffed behind his back, but Titus remembered what they had looked like the last time he’d shaken Marquis’s hand. Wide as ax heads, with nicks and scars from teaching himself carpentry.
“Davy, take Austin over to your car. Give me a minute here,” Titus said.
“Sure, Titus,” Davy said. He and Pip helped Austin to his feet. Titus noticed Austin’s nose was broken in several places. As he rose he took great heaping gulps of air. Pip and Davy shuffle-walked him to Davy’s cruiser.
Titus looked down at his brother. Marquis shook his head and moved his dreads out of his face. He smiled at Titus, the blood on his teeth changing from blue to red as the light from Davy’s rack was caught in his mouth.
“How’s Pop?” Marquis asked.
“You should come by and see him sometime. You high?”
“Nah, might be drunk, though.”
“You know I have to take you in. Brother or not. At least until we sort this out,” Titus said.
“You gotta do your job, lawman,” Marquis said. He laughed.
“What?”
Marquis craned his head up and smiled again. “I guess I’m just meant to look up to you.”
Titus swallowed hard.
“That motherfucker tried to kill Austin!” a voice yelled from the right. Titus turned his head and saw Cotton Sanderson come striding out of the crowd. He stumbled to his left, righted himself, and kept coming, a bull seeing red.
“Cotton, stay over there,” Titus said. He raised his voice but he didn’t yell.
“Fuck you, you think I don’t know you? You think I don’t know how you work? Gonna let your brother walk after he sucker-punches Austin in the face?” Cotton slurred. He was less than ten feet away now. Titus saw he had the business end of a pool cue in his hand.
“Cotton, stay over there. You aren’t going to find nothing over here but regrets. I’m taking Austin and Marquis to the holding cell. We gonna sort this thing out. Now, if Jasper wants to make something of it, or Austin, Marquis, and Brent wanna press charges against each other, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Titus said.
A few people from the crowd came over and got between Titus and Cotton. They gently tried to corral Cotton and lead him back across the parking lot. It seemed like it was working until he executed a deft spin move and spun away from his friends and came charging at Titus and Marquis. For a big man, Cotton was surprisingly agile. He made a beeline for Marquis.
Titus took a step to his right. He opened his left hand and made a sort of V with his thumb and the rest of his fingers. He planted his feet and thrust that V into Cotton’s thick neck. He felt a shiver run up his arm as his hand connected with Cotton’s Adam’s apple. The big man dropped the pool cue and fell to his knees, clutching at his throat as his face bloomed in full crimson.
Titus grabbed Marquis by the arm and helped him to his feet.
“He gonna feel that in the morning,” Marquis said.
“Y’all help Cotton, here,” Titus said to the crowd. He saw Sawyer Hudgins, Arnold Atwell, and Royce Lazare come over and try to help Cotton to his feet.
As Titus walked his brother to his SUV, Marquis laughed again. “You a real detective. I thought that ol’ boy ain’t had no neck, but you found it,” he said.
Ezekiel had told him once, “You can demand respect. You can treat them with it too. You can save their children. You can find their wandering grandparents. You can judge the goddamn pie contest. But sometimes you still have to remind them you’re not to be fucked with. It’s the only thing some people understand.”
Titus thought about that as he put Marquis in the back of his truck.
That thought made him incredibly sad.
* * *
Titus brought a folding chair over to the holding cell and sat down in front of his brother. He crossed his legs at the ankles, took off his hat and put it on the floor, then leaned back. He checked his watch. It was a little after midnight.
Titus stared at Marquis, willing him to wake up. It was a technique he had employed when they were children. He usually only brought it out on special occasions like Christmas morning or the first day of summer vacation. The memories of those days threatened to drown him in a river of time.
Marquis sat up and laid his head against the cool cinder-block wall of the holding cell.
“You thinking twenty-four hours in the drunk tank will get me right?” Marquis asked.
“No. I’m just trying to keep you from getting in any more trouble,” Titus said.
Marquis laughed. “Liar. You ain’t never stopped trying to fix me. You always trying to fix everything. Been that way since…” Marquis trailed off, but Titus knew the end of that sentence.