“I think he doesn’t have much back-down in him, like he said,” Roof says. “But then he never really did.”
“You sure it wasn’t one of you who took that shot at his truck?” Briar asks.
“After the way he jumped us at Rowdy’s,” Lynyrd says, “if ithadbeen me, I would have been using more than bird shot. It would have been a slug built to go right through his damn windshield and do a lot more than spray some glass on him.”
In that soft voice he knows has always scared his sons a lot more than yelling would have, he says, “How’d you know it was bird shot? Or that glass got sprayed, if one of you didn’t take the shot?”
“On account of the boy who did take the shot telling us what he used when we fronted him on it a little while ago,” Roof says.
“Well, next time you talk to him, make sure you tell him that if he ever does anything remotely like that without my say-so…” Briar’s voice drifts off.
“He was already told, plain as day,” Lynyrd says. “He was just pissed because of the beating they all took and decided to do something about it without killing him the waytheywanted.”
“So, just to be clear,” their father says. “You made them aware of what happens to people who cross me?”
“Reminded them, is more like it,” Roof says.
“I’m going to take it on faith that you boys don’t need reminding from your father about what happens when people wander off the reservation, to use a politically incorrect phrase,” Briar says.
“You don’t have to worry about us, Daddy,” Lynyrd says.
“Oh, I’m not a worrier,” Briar says. “More like acarrierof worry, I guess you could say.”
They’re still standing in front of his desk, like schoolboys waiting to be dismissed by a teacher.
“Silas Tucker is a threat,” he says. “It remains to be seen how much of one, but a threat nonetheless. It’s why I believe he needs to be taken down a peg, and with more than some bird shot.”
“What you want us to do?” Roof asks.
“I want you to solve the problem before it becomes more of one,” he says. “And see if you can do it without getting your asses handed to you to the point where people think you might have been adopted. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal clear,” Roof says.
Briar gets up out of his chair and then is standing in front of the window again.
“Figure it out,” he says without turning around, almost as if his two sons aren’t even there.
THIRTY-TWO
IT’S VINCE WHO convinces me to come by his softball game in the Cross Rivers Fast-Pitch League tonight. He gets an assist in that effort from Miss Abby Wells.
“The game’s early,” she tells me when she calls. “And afterward we can go to Rowdy’s for Grease Burgers.”
“Is this your way of finessing me into that second date you talked about?”
“Wow, 109,” she says with a laugh. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
The game between Vince’s team—Lester Construction—and Rocky’s Ace Hardware is at Corley Park, on the same field where I’d played my high school ball. I leave the truck at Rowdy’s and Vince picks me up there in his old truck so we can ride to the game together.
“I don’t get around the bases the way I used to,” he says on the way over to Corley. “But if they’re keeping score, that’s good enough for me.” He gives me a sideways glance. “I even told the boys you might even get the itch to play for our team before the summer is over.”
“No chance,” I say. “Less than no chance, even.”
I see him grin. “Yeah, but you know what they say, dawg. Lot of green between now and the end of the season.”
“Not nearly enough,” I say. “Trust me on that.”
I’m surprised to see that the parking lot is almost completely full by the time we arrive, to the point where we have to park down by the kids’ playground. And as we get closer to the field, I can see the bleachers on both sides are nearly full.
