Page 16 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin’s Duet (Sins of the South)

SEVEN

SAVERIN

Saverin’s plan had failed.

Spectacularly.

“When you said you needed my help,” said his cousin Crash Walker, “I didn’t think you meant punching your ticket to hell.”

Crash Walker, true to his McCall bloodline, was a man of towering height.

His head nearly touched the bonnet of the “borrowed” Buick’s cramped backseat.

The shivering figure next to him looked pathetically small.

It didn’t paint a great picture, two giant men terrorizing a little old lady at the point of a gun on a desolate road.

“We’ve got Satan’s own queen here,” said Saverin darkly. “We’ll be just fine.”

Tanya’s mother puffed up her chest. “Think I’m scared of two pasty crackers? You can’t touch me!”

“ Pasty ?” Crash said, wounded. “And I thought Oklahoma got me a tan.”

“I think she meant me,” said Saverin.

“She definitely meant you. I’m half Sicilian.”

“My son is in a gang,” Mrs. Weaver declared. “And he’s crazy .”

Saverin pulled over to the edge of the forest. They were just a mile outside of Rowanville, on the edge of Goldsville county.

The property skirted an abandoned homestead where Roman used to make deliveries for the East Coast cartel.

Saverin turned off the car and braced himself. This was going to be unpleasant.

“Get her out,” he told his cousin. Crash fixed Saverin with a warning glare before helping the old lady out onto the grass.

Being the most reliable and discreet of his cousins, and handy in all situations given his military background, he’d been Saverin’s number one pick for this job.

Crash received the somewhat vague instructions that they were going to interrogate a thief as fair game, but upon learning that this “thief” was an elderly woman and the stolen item was in fact a human child, he’d torn a strip off Saverin and made it plain that there would be no shooting or killing or physically disheveling the suspect.

Sure. Naturally Saverin had no intention of hurting old ladies, guilty or not. Leave the thrashing, if any, to Tanya. It was her son, her Mama, and her justice. But before Tanya got a bite at that, Saverin would need to find out exactly what had happened to Amari Weaver from the horse’s mouth.

“My son will kill the both of you,” Tanya’s mother threatened. Saverin knew damn well she didn’t have a son. Only a daughter she didn’t give a shit about.

He’d found a box of Camels in the Buick. He lit one now. God, how he missed cigarettes. He was in a very bad mood.

“I recently quit,” Crash declined, when Saverin offered. Saverin paced up and down, thinking on his next move. He had to frighten the woman without actually hurting her.

“My son is coming,” Tanya’s mother blabbered to his back. “He’s gonna tear your asses up. You better just let me go before he finds out where I am.”

He turned. “ You don’t have a son .”

When they had snatched her up they’d been masked. Now the hideous scarring of his face lay bare, and she saw his eyes burning with green hate. Mother Weaver recoiled.

“Right now we’re going to talk about your daughter. Tanya,” he said. “Remember Tanya?”

“T-Tanya? What about Tanya?”

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

“I– I haven’t seen her in weeks. What has she done this time? I had nothing to do with it!”

“What about her son, Amari?”

Mother Weaver began breathing very fast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Remember taking him to the park? Remember driving away in a gray car? You didn’t tell Tanya that one, did you?

Nor the police. You thought you got away with it.

How much did you sell that little boy for?

” He felt capable of anything. Tanya would never spend another night crying softly next to him, quiet, so he couldn’t hear…

“W-what do you mean?” Tanya’s mother drew herself up, clutching her beaded purse to her chest like a shield. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with Amari getting kidnapped?!”

She wasn’t much older than Tanya, Saverin judged.

They looked alike– but none of the sweetness in Tanya’s face matched the bitter lines of her mother’s.

Lines, yeah, but not too many. Cyrie Weaver might have been a teen mother herself when she made Tanya.

Was that why she hated her daughter? Did she resent Tanya for stealing her youth?

Some women were like that– his own mother had been like that…

“Where is he?” Saverin asked hoarsely. “Just tell us where you stashed the boy.”

“He was kidnapped. How the hell would I know?”

Before he knew it he’d grabbed her. Hard. Very hard. She lied, she lied, she lied…Tanya’s own mother… Crash shoved him off and Cyrie shrank against the car and began to cry big fat crocodile tears.

“Saverin, easy. Easy. What the fuck?” Crash said, incredulous. His excoriations fell on deaf ears; Saverin’s blood ran hot as lava. He had felt the bones in her neck, how easy it would be to just…

“You gonna waste some frail old lady?” Crash raved. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“She sold her own grandkid to some church freaks– he’s five , for Chrissake!”

“Since when do you care?” His cousin stabbed a finger in his chest. “I thought you Baileys were all up Roman’s rear end over the harvest and the drugs or whatever the fuck. I thought you didn’t hold with people like her . So who’s the kid to you?”

“I’m dating the kid’s mother. Get your damned finger off me.”

“You’re dating a black woman, Saverin?”

“You got a problem with that?”

“I don’t give two fucks.” Crash flushed. “I myself— nevermind. You got proof your girl’s old lady is the one that snatched the kid? For fuck’s sake, I thought this was some debt collection shit. Only reason I got involved was to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“She did it to another kid,” Saverin told his cousin, revealing what he’d learned from the Detective’s file. He said it loud enough that Tanya’s mother heard, and her wide-eyed silence was all but a confession.

“And the cops?” Crash asked Saverin after a pause.

“East Rowanville PD took the case. That lard-ass detective basically told me they didn’t give a shit ‘cause it was a Black kid.”

Crash grunted, “The detective— short, fat guy? Skipper was the name?”

“That’s the man. Where’d I put those damned cigarettes?”

“Skipper’s daddy was a Grand Dragon in the Klan,” said Crash dryly. “So I ain’t surprised.”

Figures. Saverin found the Camels. His temper was walking a razor edge and it was hard to calm down. He said, “I need to find this kid before they take him out of state, Walker. Get that woman to talk. She’s my girl’s Ma for all she’s scum.”

“Well, it seems your witness is noncompliant.”

Saverin fumbled with his lighter. “Weren’t you a marine? Just pretend she’s in the Taliban or some shit.”

“I don’t see you for two years and then you pop up asking me to terrorize someone on social security.”

“Forgive me,” Saverin offered.

“Alright, you ugly son of a bitch.” Crash then rounded on Tanya’s mother. “How much did they pay you for the kid?” he asked in a far milder tone.

“I– it wasn’t so much,” the old woman wilted. “Just a couple thousand. C-colton got the rest…”

“Who is Colton?” Crash asked Saverin from the corner of his mouth.

“Tanya’s ex,” replied Saverin. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. “I knew the bastard was involved somehow. He went for the kid’s birth certificate last night.”

Mother Weaver’s eyes bugged out. She breathed, “Did he get it? Did Colton get the birth certificate?”

“No,” said Saverin. “I shot him dead before he could rape and kill your daughter.”

“I– I—” the woman sputtered. “Dead? Are you sure?”

“Look, Ma’am,” said Crash, side-eyeing a fuming Saverin. “Er— my cousin here, he’s…he’s real emotional right now, see? I know he ain’t much to look at, and he’s got a few screws loose, but he’s alright, really. We just want a little information on the kid.”

Saverin huffed on the cigarette, trying to convince himself the sinking feeling in his gut was just ungrounded paranoia. He had allowed himself to hope that Amari was still with his grandmother. But the kid could be anywhere now. Hope was for fools. He rubbed the scarred flesh under his eye.

Crash suddenly perked up. “Saverin, ain’t that your phone?”

It was. Saverin ducked around the car and fished the buzzing device out of his pocket.

In his consternation he hadn’t even felt it vibrate.

And speak of the devil– it was the East Rowanville detective, Skipper, calling.

As he swiped his thumb across the screen he noticed he had a missed call from his cousin Sarah Jane, and his cousin Roman.

Can’t be nothing good from that end , he thought, unease deepening.

He raised the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

Detective Skipper’s nasal voice drawled out, “Saverin Bailey.”

“Top of the morning to you, detective.”

“Spare me, Bailey. You’re damned lucky I’m even calling at all.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I got news for you. But I ain’t happy with the way our last conversation went. Not happy at all. So this can be either good news or bad news depending how you want to handle this.”

“I understand,” said Saverin, resisting the urge to tell the sloppy bastard to get to the point. The man was a precious son of a bitch and Saverin had pissed him off deeply by stealing an artefact from his Confederate shrine: a bible belonging to the former Rebel president, Jefferson Davis.

The detective said, “An hour ago, I received a call from the East Side. Somebody found a naked African American boy on a roof.”

“So?” said Saverin. He ground the dead cigarette under his shoe.

“Well, the kid says his name is Amari Weaver. He fits the profile. We have him at the station.”

You got to be fucking kidding me. “I’ll be there,” Saverin said quickly. “Just hold him there, detective. I’m about five minutes away from you right now. Tell him– tell him he’s gonna see his Ma soon. Tell him it’s gonna be alright.”

“You have my Bible?” the detective barked, shooting a black arrow into Saverin’s plans.

“Saverin, you better not even think of showing up here without my fuckin’ Bible.

If you so much as set foot in the parking lot without my Bible, I will shoot your biggity ass so high you’ll hit the moon.

Get me? No Bible, no kid! Period! You have twenty-four hours or I’m putting that boy on the streets. ”

“I’ll get you the damned Bible, alright? Don’t hurt the kid.”

“I got him in blankets and we gave him some soup. He’s barely talking– only said his name. Hurry up over here ‘cause this ain’t no goddamned daycare.”

“Tell the kid his Mama’s coming.”

“I ain’t telling him shit .” Detective Skipper hung up.

“Did I hear that right?” Crash squinted, his sharp hearing catching half of the conversation from several feet away. “Somebody found the kid? What was that about a Bible?”

“I have to get back to Florin,” Saverin said roughly.

“ What ?”

“The detective found Amari Weaver. But he wants to make a trade. So I need to get back to Florin for— let’s just get in the car and I’ll tell you.”

“That’s a piece of pudding,” said Crash furiously. “What are we supposed to do, drag the old lady with us?”

“That’s exactly what,” said Saverin, getting the Buick’s keys in hand. “And I’m about to smoke dirt, so buckle up. I might need you to drive back and get the kiddo, but I ain’t sure.”

“To hell with all Baileys and McCalls,” Crash said, opening the door for Tanya’s bemused mother. “After this, remind me to kick your ass.”