7

Cadaver regains his seat amid the shadows.

Gracie spills bourbon over the girl’s exposed chest–the wound is deep–eliciting another agonized shriek from her, and I know I’m right. This is eternal damnation, or at the very least, some kind of waiting room where all we get to do is sit and stew and wait for our number to be called. I decide in that moment, without even the faintest idea how it’s going to go down, that more than these kid’s numbers are going to be called tonight.

The Reverend stands before the kid, who has a blood-soaked hand clamped over his belly. “Well now,” he says, “Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle here.”

“We need a doctor,” Brody says, his pallid face slick with sweat. “Please.”

The Reverend cocks his head. “And why should we do something like that for a man who introduced himself by shoving a gun in a lawman’s face, then threatened to shoot the only fella in here who seemed inclined to help him?”

“Gracie, call Doctor Hendricks,” I tell her, but the Reverend raises a hand he’d like you to believe was made to heal sinners.

“Do no such thing.”

“Reverend,” Cobb says. “This ain’t how he’s supposed to go anyhow, so what harm is there in fixin’ him up?”

I look squarely at Cobb. “Can you help them?”

He nods frantically.

“Will you?”

Everybody present knows what it will cost Cobb if he does, but damned if he doesn’t go on nodding that big old shaggy head of his. For a brief moment my envy extends from Wintry to this sad old man with his sagging body, who, if nothing else, has the kind of heart most of us would, and have, killed for.

But then the Reverend glances up at him and scowls. “You stay out of this, Cobb. When we need the black magic of heathens, you’ll be the first to know. ”

The dying kid fixes the nudist with an odd look. “Your name’s Cobb?”

Cobb, equally perplexed, nods. “Yeah. Why?”

The Reverend sighs. “Shut your goddamn mouth. Now listen here, kid. All I want from you is a simple answer. This town’s reserved for the dreamless, the lost and the hopeless. You may be a no-good piece of shit, but I bet you’ve got ambitions, right?”

“Sure. Seeing another sunrise was one of them.”

“From somewhere other than Milestone.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is it, then, that instead of being in the driver seat of your nice new–stolen–midnight blue Corvette heading North, right the hell out of this burg, maybe with that filthy whore of yours giving you a blowjob while you listen to some of the devil’s music on the stereo…why is it that you’re sitting here dying?”

Brody’s eyes widen until they seem to fill his face. “Shit, I’m dying?” He starts to chuckle. “Fuck me, Dean. Looks like we get to do that duet after all.”

The Reverend slaps him, a quick dry open-handed slap that knocks the mirth right off the kid’s face. He looks stunned, his breath coming in short hard rasps, then angry. “Preacher,” he says, mustering as much iron into his words as he can. “You’re lucky I’m down or I’d have to beg my Momma for forgiveness for busting your nose.”

And on hearing that, God forgive me, I find myself warming to the bastard.

“Answer the question, sonny,” Reverend Hill tells him. “Now, or I guarantee that shot to the gut will seem like a bee sting by the time I’m done with you. You see, here we follow a strict set of guidelines. Sinners atone for their sins by ridding the world of filth, just like them. There are outposts like this everywhere. Each one has its own methods too. Here at Eddie’s, you get to drive. But seeing as how you’re past doing anything of the kind, and therefore, all but useless to me, you’d better start answering my questions. So, for the last time, why are you here?”

Brody ignores the priest and glances at Cobb again. “She had the same name as you.”

Cobb blanches. “Who did?”

Brody starts shaking, worse than before, and suddenly his eyes are on me with such intensity, even Hill looks over his shoulder. “Sheriff,” the kid says. “Mind if I give you something?”

“Go right ahead, as long as it isn’t a bullet.”

“In my pocket…two twenty dollar bills and a five.”

“Okay.”

“Can you give them to that man there?”

“Cobb?”

“Yes.”

I resist the urge to ask him why he didn’t just get Cobb to take it himself.

“Not much life in you,” Hill says, dropping to his haunches. “Better start talking. Just because you die doesn’t mean I can’t reach you.”

Brody swallows, looks at Cobb, then away. “She came out of nowhere.”

Cobb takes a step forward, but is stopped by the Reverend’s glare and Wintry’s hand on his shoulder. “What’s he talkin’ about?”

“Your wife, I expect,” Hill says, with no emotion at all, then reaches forward and tilts the kid’s head up until their eyes meet. “Am I right?”

“We didn’t see her. She must have had her lights off. And if you don’t get your fucking hand off me, Preacher, I swear I’ll use every last ounce of my strength…to put you through the wall.”

As I’m listening, I picture Eleanor Cobb, hunched over her steering wheel, trying to look as small and inconspicuous as possible, afraid of being seen by anyone, even in the storm, lights turned off on a quiet road because she doesn’t imagine she’ll encounter another car, and doesn’t want to draw attention to herself if she does. But she hasn’t counted on a thief and his woman traveling on that same quiet road, pedal to the metal, eager to be clear of a town that reeks of death.

I lower my head. “Jesus.”

“Hang on, kid,” Cobb says, and his tone is both desperate and disbelieving. “You must be mistaken. She doesn’t come to get me. She never does.”

“She did tonight,” Hill says.

“No.”

“I took her wallet. Figured…with the state she was in…she wouldn’t need it. Saw her name…I’m sorry…you can have the money…I’m–”

I look up in time to see Cobb lunging for the kid, but Wintry’s got him in a firm hold, and all Cobb can do is struggle until the strength leaves him and he turns, embraces the big black man and weeps uncontrollably.

“Get him a drink and sit him down,” I tell Wintry, and he does. I’m surprised anyone is listening to me. Nights as wild as these badges count for nothing.

All the fight has left Cobb.

Reverend Hill stands up and scratches his chin. He sighs heavily. “Sheriff,” he says. “Looks like you and I have a bit of a problem.”

***

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