Page 30 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin’s Duet (Sins of the South)

FOURTEEN

SAVERIN

Downstairs, Absalom was pissed.

“Why did nobody stop her?” he raged.

“What were we supposed to do?” Shadrac argued back. “The bitch was drinkin’ like a fish— how could we know she was pregnant?”

Absalom knelt next to his legal wife and tested her pulse. “She’ll probably lose the child,” he said, shaking his head. He looked up at Saverin’s astonished face and said sharply, “It ain’t mine. It’s Gino’s. Where is Gino?”

“Over there,” said Shadrac, indicating the heap of Snatch Hills shivering across the room. “He’s alive. Barely. It ain’t our fault, boss,” said Shadrac stubbornly. “There was nothing we could do.”

“Enough,” said Absalom, rising up to grab him by the scruff. His eyes flared open. “You do as I tell you. Get her to a hospital and none of your fucking lip.”

“They’ll run her blood,” hissed Shadrac.

“Do it. Say she ate something, I don’t give a fuck. I’m not letting the woman die on my account.”

“What about the rest of them?” asked Saverin, his mouth a grim line.

The Snatch Hills, many of whom had lost consciousness, were in a sorry state.

Some were covered in blood, in shit, and all were absolutely coated in vomit.

The cleanup in this room would be spectacular.

It stank worse than a slaughterhouse. While one Green Tree went around collecting the tainted bottles of Roman’s whiskey, a few more hauled the sickened Snatch Hills aside in a heap.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Saverin jumped, but it was just the fireworks starting off. Absalom had timed it perfectly, corralling the guests outside to see the light show just as the first Snatch Hills started taking sick.

“I told them not to drink the whiskey,” said Absalom to Saverin, shaking his head. “Happy all my boys listened. Except Junkie. You alright, Junkie?”

“I’m good, Boss,” groaned a younger man from their left before retching all over his boots. One of the other Green Trees brought him some water.

“He’s loyal enough, I suppose,” said Absalom, almost to himself. “Still young.”

“Bad whiskey, huh?” said Saverin, his stomach turning from the chaos, and the stench in the room.

And perhaps from the cool manner of the man at his side.

Saverin had been shocked and revolted from the sudden — er— eruption in the room, but Absalom’s face remained a mask the entire time, his composure only breaking when Dinah started puking with the rest of her kinsmen.

Absalom surveyed the damage. Saverin’s small-hairs stood up on the back of his neck. At that moment the younger man looked just like Roman.

“Well, I did warn them,” Absalom shrugged.

“Roman must have poisoned that whiskey before he left,” Saverin said slowly.

Absalom said, “Do you figure?”

“Yeah,” said Saverin. Sneaky son of a bitch. “But who knows.”

He watched a Green Tree haul Hiram out of the room by the scruff of his neck.

“Excuse me,” he said to Absalom, who nodded.

Hiram’s eyes were rolling back in his head.

His face was a mottled red and purple, turning green towards his neck, where the collared shirt now seemed buttoned too tight.

Saverin dug into the man’s jacket until his fingers closed on Tanya’s little purse.

Hiram barely flinched, clearly in the throes of some delirium.

He looked sicker than the rest of his kin; maybe he’d had the most of that bad whiskey, or maybe the purging had brought up even deeper poisons in his gut.

Saverin had imagined his revenge all day, but the man’s end was coming tonight whether he laid hands on him in this moment or not.

Saverin almost pitied him. From whispers he’d heard around, Hiram had done something to Lorraine, or tried to do it, and Absalom was not known to play nice when a man crossed him.

“You alright?” the Green Tree grunted to Saverin.

“One sec.” Checking Tanya’s purse confirmed the presence of the ticket, and in a rush of relief Saverin nodded to the Green Tree holding up Hiram, allowing them to pass.

Three more of Hiram’s men were marched right behind him, looking as miserable as their leader.

The rest of the Snatch Hills were left groaning on the floor and begging for water.

One of the Green Trees doused them from a bucket, to the laughter of the rest. Two men had actually died from the poison, and their bodies were hauled to a corner, their faces covered.

“Where are you taking Hiram?” Saverin asked Absalom, crossing the room again.

“To the basement,” was the quiet reply.

One of Absalom’s men came in with a mop and a bucket, which he handed to Absalom.

The room was being cleaned. Younger boys in their teens began opening windows, and others came with mops and rags and buckets.

Outside on the great lawn, Saverin could see women hauling up more food for the tables.

The doors of the house would remain closed for the rest of the night.

It all happened with the tidy efficiency of a hive.

It had always been said that the Green Tree clan was a tightly-knit bunch.

Saverin would never again underestimate them.

“What’s in the basement?” he asked.

“Payback,” Absalom said, leaning on the mop. “You’re invited, of course. They threatened your girl.”

“I have enough stains on my conscience.”

“This ain’t a stain,” said Absalom coldly. “It’s a cleanup.”

“Sure.”

Absalom shrugged. “Tell Lorrie I’ll be up in a couple hours.”

“You’re trusting me with your girl?”

“As you trusted me with yours.” Putting the mop to the floor, Absalom turned his back to Saverin, who clapped him on the shoulder before turning to go upstairs.