“Tell her to grab a twelve-pack and come on over.”
The three men laughed and then Boyd gave Russell back the wallet. The other man walked back over to the scene.
“Hurry and get that thing renewed,” Boyd said.
“First thing.” Russell stuck it in his pocket and asked what happened.
Boyd’s face went straight and he blew out a big breath. “Found a deputy out here shot dead. Shot a few times. Can’t find his pistol, either. It ain’t pretty.”
“Anybody I know?”
“Nah. Guy came down from Tupelo or somewhere a year or two back. He’s been on thin ice ever since he got here. Wonder if something didn’t catch up with him.”
“What was he doing out here?”
“That’s the ten-dollar question,” Boyd said and shook his head. “Don’t nobody seem to know right now. I hate for Lacey to find out about this one. She hates it enough already. It ain’t like it used to be when we were running the roads. Fighting in the parking lot or busting somebody’s mailbox was about as bad as we got. These days you walk up to somebody’s car and you might get your face blowed off. Any swinging dick can get a gun.”
A man from the crowd called out to Boyd and Boyd told him just a minute.
“I gotta run over there, Russell. Good to see you. Can’t believe it’s been that long.”
Russell nodded and they shook hands again and Boyd walked away. Russell waited a minute, mesmerized by the swirling lights. He then turned to get in the truck and Boyd hustled back over to him.
“Hold on,” he said. “Don’t get in yet. I’m told it don’t matter if you’re my momma I got to look in your truck. Stand over there.” Boyd pointed to a spot on the ground ten feet away from the truck and Russell stood on it. Boyd opened the glove compartment and looked under the seat and then he lifted the seat and found empty beer bottles and the shotgun and shells. He put the seat back and then he walked over to Russell and asked him if it was his.
“Used to be. Guess it is again.”
“Loaded?”
“Yep.”
Boyd scratched his chin. “How’s your daddy?”
“Still going.”
“Out there in the same spot?”
“The same.”
“You know you can’t have a gun. Shit, Russell. You ain’t even been home twenty-four hours.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you riding around with a loaded twenty-gauge?”
“It just worked out that way.”
“Not just a loaded shotgun but empty beer cans on the floorboard.”
Russell gave a big exhale. Shrugged his shoulders.
“Do me a favor and unload it,” Boyd said.
“All right.”
“And don’t drink no more right now.”
“Yes sir.”
“Look, between you and me plenty of those boys over there drive around looking to stick it to somebody. Might be why one is shot up. And don’t none of them really give a shit about fellas who already been in once.”
“I gotcha.”
“Okay. Take off now. Go on home.”
Russell nodded. He cranked the truck and backed away from the scene and then he was again alone in the dark. But he did not think of going home. Instead he opened another beer and drove slow, looking for a good side road. The shifting shades of dark as he put miles between him and the flashing lights. He found a road between two fence posts where a rusted metal gate was bent out of shape and wedged open. The truck just fit through the opening and he followed the bumpy road until it ended in the middle of a pasture. He shut the headlights and got out.
But he didn’t let down the tailgate. Didn’t sit on the hood. Instead he paced around with the high grass brushing his legs. His arms folded and his lips pressed together. The beer can sweating in his hand.
He appreciated what Boyd said but he wasn’t going to unload the shotgun.
There was a simplicity to Boyd that he admired. A wife and kids and a job with benefits and he couldn’t help but think of Sarah. He had told himself that her picture wouldn’t make it out of the box but she had made it to the mantel already. There had been no reason to bring her home with him. The memories of what had been had helped to sustain him while confined amid concrete and steel but there was no reason to bring her home. But he had. He thought he knew where she lived. He had the address from the last letter she had sent him six years earlier. I have to move on, Russell. He’s a good man, Russell. Nobody can help the way things turned out.
He wondered about the dead deputy. Wondered if his death had been merciful. Like the merciful death he had wished for so many nights as he lay awake, fearful of what might come the next day. To him or the man standing next to him.
Go on home, Boyd had said.