JUNIOR DEAVER HEAVED
a flat of asphalt shingles off his pickup truck. They landed with a thump that broke the quiet of the morning. Junior jumped off the truck and took a look at the home he was building for his family. It was all framed, the roof was on and it would soon be under shingle. It had been slow going, though. He’d done most of the work himself, calling in favors from buddies from time to time. It wasn’t a large house, but it was far bigger than the double-wide trailer they were currently living in. He pulled his tool belt off the truck, put it on and headed over to fire up the gasoline generator that would power the air gun he’d use to drive the shingle nails.
It was only then that he heard the stealthy footsteps coming toward him. He spun around. He’d expected no visitors at this isolated place. No one knew he was here other than his wife. And he hadn’t even heard a car pull up.
The sight of the woman drew the blood from his face.
Remmy Battle was dressed in a full-length black leather coat with the collar turned up. She had wide sunglasses on. Boots covered her feet and she was wearing gloves, though it wasn’t chilly.
“Mrs. Battle? What are you doing here?”
She stopped about a foot from him. “I wanted to talk to you, Junior, just you and me.”
“How’d you even know I was here?”
“I know a lot, Junior, far more than most people think. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Junior held up his hands. “Look, I got me a lawyer. You better talk to him.”
“I have talked to him. Now I want to talk to you.”
He eyed her warily and then looked around as though he expected to see police officers swooping in to arrest him. His expression turned stubborn. “I don’t see that we got anything to talk about. You already had me put in jail.”
“But you’re out now, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but we had to put up bail. Almost broke us. We ain’t got that kind of money.”
“Come on now, Junior, your wife makes good money over at that club. I know that for a fact. My husband frequented the place. She probably earned a small fortune just off him.”
“I don’t know nothing about that.”
She ignored this. “My dead husband.”
“I heard,” Junior mumbled in reply.
“He was murdered, you know,” she said in an oddly flat tone.
“Heard that too.”
“You get out of jail and then he ends up dead.”
He looked at her wide-eyed. “Look, you ain’t gonna pin that on me, lady.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have an alibi.”
“You bet I do.”
“Good for you, but that’s not why I’m here.” She drew even closer and took off her glasses. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I want it back, Junior. I want it back now.”
“Damn it, Mrs. Battle, I didn’t take your wedding ring.”
She suddenly shouted, “I couldn’t give a shit about the damn ring. I want the other things. You give them back to me. You give them back to me right now.”
Junior slapped his thigh in frustration. “How many times do I have to say this? I don’t have that stuff because I didn’t break into your house.”