“Since Mama died,” Titus said.
Marquis leaned forward. Titus crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them when he realized how aggressive that appeared.
“You shouldn’t have had to do that,” Marquis said.
“Somebody had to,” Titus said.
Marquis yawned. “It shouldn’t have been you, even if you was the oldest. Hell, it should have been Pop, but we both know how that went. He traded the bottle for the Bible and thought that would fix it all. But we both know that’s bullshit.”
“It’s not all bullshit. You can try to fix things. Pop just used the wrong tools.”
“You can’t fix everything, no matter what tools you use, Ty. Shit, you can barely fix anything. Most days you gotta just hold on and keep your head down,” Marquis said.
“I don’t believe that,” Titus said.
Marquis smiled at him, but it never reached his eyes. “That’s why you’re miserable, big brother.” A quiet bloomed between them. The kind of quiet that was neither awkward nor filled with any specific potentiality. The kind of quiet that can only exist between brothers of a certain disposition.
Finally, Titus broke the spell. “You wanna tell me what all that was about? Jasper says you broke two of his tables and a barstool,” Titus said.
“Them tables rickety as fuck. You gonna call the magistrate so I can bond out?” Marquis asked.
“Let’s hold on a minute. I wanna know what that was all about. What set you off like that?” Titus asked.
Marquis rolled his massive head and stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “I got tired of hearing them talk shit about my brother,” he said finally.
Titus leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “Marquis, if you gonna fight everybody who says something bad about the sheriff, you better get a good lawyer on retainer.”
“You ain’t just the sheriff,” Marquis said.
Titus stared at him.
“Just for curiosity’s sake, what were they saying?” Titus asked.
Marquis stretched again, and this time his back popped. “They was saying you was lying about Mr. Spearman. That you didn’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. Then one of them called you an uppity nigger. So I sat down my rum and Coke and picked up that barstool and made them think about their life choices.”
Titus didn’t want to laugh. He knew he shouldn’t, but it came out unbidden and unbound. Soon Marquis was joining him. They hadn’t shared a laugh in a long time. It echoed through the holding cell like a church bell. As it ebbed, Titus felt his eyes begin to sting. How many times had they had a moment like this since their mother had died? Three, maybe four?
“Look, I’m not gonna hold you all night. Austin has declined to press charges. Brent was telling anyone that would listen he was going to handle it in the street as they took him away in the ambulance, so I’m assuming he isn’t pressing charges either. Unless you want to press charges against them, I’m gonna let Austin go, then let you go an hour later. You need a ride back up the road to get your car?” Titus asked.
“Nah, I’ll call Tisha,” Marquis said.
“You don’t need to do that. I’ll take you,” Titus said.
“I know you’re tired as hell. I’ll get Tisha. She ain’t doing nothing.”
“How long y’all been messing around now? Ten years? You need to go ahead and marry that girl,” Titus said, instantly realizing he sounded just like his father.
“Like you gonna marry Darlene?” Marquis said. He winked at Titus.
“That’s different.”
“That’s one way of saying it,” Marquis said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Titus said.
“Nothing. Just … you really think you gonna spend the rest of your life here? Like, you winning was luck. You know these white folks ain’t gonna let you get a second term. Then what? Pop don’t really need you to hang around. You used to be in the F-B-fucking-I. Why in the hell would you stay in Charon? Besides Pop, I can’t believe you came back. Darlene is a good woman, but she a Charon girl. The only way she would leave here is feet first. I know you, Ty. This place ain’t enough for you. It never was,” Marquis said.
“We’ve seen each other five or six times in the last seven years. You really think you know me, know what I want?” Titus said. His voice was tight as a drum.
Marquis got up off his cot and walked over to the bars of the cell. He gripped them with his wide ax-head hands and leaned forward. His tightly coiled dreads fell into his face.
“Better than anybody who’s still breathing, big brother,” Marquis said. More quiet descended upon them like a fog. After a few minutes Titus got up and folded his chair.
“You’ll get your stuff from Pip. He’ll cut you loose. Everything except your belt. I’m pretty sure that buckle knife is illegal in the state of Virginia. Why do you even have something like that?” Titus asked.
“To stab people,” Marquis said. He laughed.
Titus didn’t join him this time. “Watch yourself, little brother. Jasper and Cotton can hold a grudge.”
“I’m not the one that throat-chopped Cotton and probably made him shit his pants,” Marquis said.
“I’m the police. They know better.”
“No offense, big brother, but that star don’t mean a lot to them boys. They’ve seen how little they cost,” Marquis said.
Titus walked over to the cell. “What you saying?”
Marquis moved his dreads out of his face. “I ain’t saying nothing. But people talk. I hear things.”
Titus stared at his brother. Stared into his dark brown eyes. He’d heard rumors about Cooter Bennings having his hand out to local businesses, but he’d assumed most of his graft took the form of free gas and a good loan from the bank.
“You know something I don’t?” Titus asked.
Marquis shook his head. “I don’t know nothing. But don’t you think it’s mighty funny you can’t never run up on them white boys? I’m just saying.”
Titus walked up to the cell and put his hands on the bars. “If you knew something you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“If I knew something for sure, you damn right I’d tell you. You my brother, ain’t you?” Marquis said.
Titus let go of the bars. “Pip will let you out in an hour. I’m heading home. You should … you should think about coming over this weekend.”
“I might. See you later, Ty,” Marquis said.
“See you, Key,” Titus said. He walked back down the hall.
Just as he reached the door, Marquis hollered to him, “You can keep that belt. You probably need it more than I do!”
* * *
Titus stopped by the switchboard desk. He expected to see Kathy, but Carla was there, out of uniform with her hair down and in a Dartmouth hoodie.
“You aren’t Kathy. And you don’t really look like Carla,” Titus said.
“I know, but Kathy called and asked could I cover her for the rest of the night. Apparently she’s been messing around with Brent and she had to go get him from the hospital,” Carla said. “Side note, we really need more than two switchboard operators.”
“Small-town living. You know, even though I grew up here I’m still shocked about who’s seen who naked,” Titus said.
Carla chuckled. “FFD.”
Titus arched an eyebrow.
“My brother Luis used to say, ‘Ain’t nothing to do in small towns except fighting, fucking, and drinking.’ We’ve seen the results of all three tonight,” Carla said.
“Your brother spoke the truth. Pip is gonna let Austin go in a minute. Then he gonna cut Marquis loose about an hour later. Hopefully that will keep them from running into each other. Make sure you mark these hours you working down as overtime. I’m heading home, going to try and catch a few hours with my eyes closed,” Titus said.
“Gotcha, boss. Oh, by the way, those state boys said they would probably be done with the crime scene by tomorrow. They took some soil samples, pictures, stuff like that. What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Carla asked.
“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. I’m beat,” Titus said.
“Right. See ya, boss.”
“Later, Carla,” Titus said.
He was almost to his car when he heard Carla calling his name. She was standing in the doorway with her finger on the earpiece of the headset.
“Titus! Someone on the phone says he got a tip on the case. Says he has to talk to the sheriff,” Carla said. Titus trotted back to the station. He took the headset from Carla and put it on his head.
“Sheriff Crown, how can I help?” he said. He pointed at Carla and pantomimed writing, then pointed at the screen of the switchboard. Carla wrote down the number on a scrap of an envelope.
“Huh … it’s me that thought I was helping you,” a voice said. The speaker was talking through a piece of fabric or paper over his or her phone. They were also slurring their words and breathing like they had just run a panther-assisted mile.
“Well, we do appreciate any help you might be able to give. You told my operator you had some information for me?”