The Forsaken

“Uncle Qui

“Yes, sir.”

“You never said what to do about them bullies,” he said.

“Your momma would want me to say to tell a teacher.”

“What’d you say?”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No,” Jason said. “They just said I stunk.”

“How’s that?”

“They said black people smell fu

“You know their names?”

“No, sir,” Jason said. “But they said the creamies smelled worse than the blacks. I guess I’m a creamy.”

Qui

“But what do I do when no one’s looking?”

Qui

“When I was a little older than you, I had this kid always wanted to fight me,” Qui

“Did you kill him?”

“No, sir,” Qui

“What’d you do?”

Qui

“I told your grandmomma about it,” Qui

“Why didn’t you tell your daddy?”

“Wasn’t around,” Qui

“What? What was it?”

“Well, one day that kid got off at my stop and that boy followed me down Ithaca Street to our house,” Qui

“An ass-whippin’?”

“Yep,” Qui

“Some other kids laughed when they said I stunk.”

“Don’t let ’em say that,” Qui

“What if they hit me back?”

“Hit ’em harder,” Qui

Qui

“Uncle Qui

“Your momma might be right,” he said. “About some things.”

Qui

After a woman helped Jason from his seat and sent him down the path to his class, Qui

•   •   •

“You might try some brake cleaner on that,” Lillie Virgil said, getting out of her Jeep, hand over eyes in the harsh morning sun.

Diane Tull had parked at the side of the Farm & Ranch, using a hose and soapy brush to work on that spray paint from last night. She had on an old barn coat over a fla

“I’d hoped it wouldn’t set,” Diane said.

“Can you scratch it off with a fingernail?”

Diane picked at some of the lettering. “Some of it. Some has set.”

“Nail polish remover,” Lillie said. “Some kids defaced some county vehicles a few years ago and Mary Alice just reached in her purse and showed how easy it works. That woman sure is proud of her fingernails. Like eagle claws. That was on tractors, but I don’t think you’ll mind damaging that coat a little bit.”

“It’s an old truck.”

“Nice one,” Lillie said. “’Sixty-five?”

“’Sixty-six,” Diane said, putting the brush in the bucket. “The two-tone paint is original and the AM radio still works. My daddy bought it brand-new at a dealership in Columbus.”

“Sorry about what happened,” Lillie said. “Don’t wash too much of it yet. I need to take some pictures.”

“Sheriff Colson took some last night,” Diane said.

“Need a few more, in the daylight,” Lillie said. “I know he already pulled some prints off the door handle.”

“It was locked,” Diane said, warming her hands in her blue barn coat. “And Qui

Lillie walked back to her truck and pulled out a little point-and-shoot Nikon that she said belonged to the sheriff’s office. She took eight or nine pictures from different perspectives and then slipped the camera in her side pocket. She hadn’t worn a hat that day, her brown hair tied up and pi

“You got a few minutes?” Lillie said. “Got a few questions.”

“Not much to say,” Diane said. “Didn’t see much and shot at just a blur of him.”

Lillie closed one eye in the harsh light and smiled at Diane. Diane had the bucket in one hand and walked over to the spigot to turn off the hose. The flowing water was ice-cold that morning.

“Not about this.”

“Oh,” Diane said, standing there, last bits of water draining from the uncoiled hose. “I guess I expected Sheriff Colson.”

“You rather talk to him?”

“No,” Diane said. “Guess it doesn’t matter. Just didn’t feel like discussing it last night. I don’t know how much to add, either. I guess it’s no secret what happened. That old story has gotten to be pretty famous.”

“Seems like it was a secret for a lot of folks.”

Diane nodded, turned, and dumped out the dirty water from the bucket. She’d gotten some paint off the side of the truck, now the message reading YORE GD. Lillie said she was pretty sure that nail polish remover trick would work, but it would be a hell of shame to mess up that red-and-white paint job. The old truck being a real work of art. Diane stepped back, looked at her dead stepdaddy’s truck, and agreed. Those rotten bastards for doing this.

“We’ve reopened the case,” Lillie said. “Both of them.”

Diane hung next to her truck, leaning against the tailgate, and nodded. She asked if Lillie wouldn’t mind going inside, “My hands feel like they’ve frozen solid.”

Lillie followed her up the ramp and into the big storage area where they kept the feed and fertilizer and overflow from inside the farm supply. Diane sat on a big stack of dog food and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke into the wind.

“You want one?”

“Trying like hell to quit,” Lillie said.

A flyer for an upcoming rodeo at the Tibbehah Ag Center fluttered in the cold wind. The event promised the grand spectacles of monkeys riding dogs, and that proceeds would go to disaster relief. Lillie turned her head to read the flyer. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a monkey riding a dog,” Lillie said. “Must be something.”