Morden Man

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Deacon Harris listened in silence as Michelle recounted the events of the previous night. For once they had met outside in the sun, not hidden away in Hobie’s Diner, and Michelle had insisted that the deacon let her bring him something healthy for him to eat for once. He had been reluctant at first but given that his trousers had begun to feel slightly tight around the thighs on their walk over it seemed agreeing had been the right choice. He was snacking on the bright green apple Michelle had bought him as Michelle finished surmising the exchange she’d had with her son after he had been released.

“Jayson told me that Roland gave Antwan the drugs,” Michelle said with an exasperated sigh. “Can you believe that? That son of a bitch gave my baby boy drugs, Gus.”

There wasn’t much about Roland Spencer that Gus wouldn’t believe but given how unsuccessful their conversation had been when he’d paid him a visit, there wasn’t much he personally could do about it other than hope the boy came to his senses before it was too late.

“What are you going to do?”

Michelle shrugged her shoulders, “What can I do? I tried tough love, tried threatening Antwan with throwing him out, and nothing's worked. He’s not scared of me, Gus, I don’t think he’s scared of anyone.”

Gus took another small, precise bite out of the apple in his hand and munched on it for a few seconds as he weighed up her options. Roland was as set in his ways as they came and from the sound of it Antwan wasn’t budging anytime soon, not on his own at least, and then it struck him light a lightning bolt. There was one person that Antwan might listen to although he already knew Michelle wouldn’t want to hear it.

“What about your brother? Have you spoken to him about things?”

Michelle frowned angrily, “What? Why would I do that?”

“From what I hear, Charles was quite a big deal to Antwan when he was growing up. Maybe he could talk some sense into him.”

Gus had heard a thousand different variations of the story that had lead to Marcus Dixon’s death and all of them had involved Chew Lewis in some form. Sometimes knelt over him plugging a wound whilst fighting back impossible odds and other times bearing down on him with a shotgun. The setting? Everything from a drug deal down in Georgia, a shootout in Arkansas, a car chase in Missouri, even a bank heist in Washington DC were all amongst some of the more popular accounts. He’d heard children as young as ten and men old enough to have lived through prohibition talk about what happened. He wasn’t any closer to knowing the truth and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but what he did know was that regardless of whatever had happened, Antwan still idolized his uncle.

Chew was the only one that could break Roland’s hold on her son and from the look on Michelle’s face she knew it too.

Suddenly without warning Michelle shook her head vociferously, a defeated look appearing on her face, “I don’t want that man anywhere near my son.”

This was still about Marcus to her and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Gus could see the pain, the loss, still etched in her face and he knew better than to try to change her mind for as long as that was the case. He only hoped that Antwan wouldn’t pay the price for his mother’s inability to forgive.

“Then what are you going to do? You’re running out of options.”

Gus tried his best not to sound deflated as he peered into Michelle’s eyes and awaited a response.

Again Michelle shrugged her shoulders, this time more hopelessly than the first, and stared back at Gus. “I thought maybe you could speak to Antwan.”

“We’ve been over this,” Gus said with a shake of his head. “It wouldn’t do any good, Michelle, the boy barely even knows who I am.”

“Like you said, it’s not like I have many other options.”

What was to stop him going over her head and contacting Charles and telling him that he needed to talk some sense into Antwan? What harm could it cause? It would certainly be more fruitful than any conversation that he could have with him and it might go some way to repairing Charles and Michelle’s relationship even if she was determined not to involve him.

Suddenly Vontae Carter’s face flashed across the deacon’s mind, he heard Vontae’s mother’s cries, and he felt his resistance to the idea wavering. He’d promised himself he’d do everything he could to stop there being any more Vontae Carters and, as much as he thought his talking to Antwan would be a waste of time, he wasn’t about to break that promise. A man was only as good as his word.

Gus let out a weak sigh and a small bemused smile crossed his lips as he nodded gently in Michelle’s direction.

“Thank you, Gus, it means a lot,” Michelle muttered, reaching out her hand to place it atop his before drawing it back sharply as she accidentally touched the half-eaten apple in his hand, placing her hand on his wrist instead with an embarrassed smile. Gus exhaled gently and returned her smile.

It faded slowly as three words crossed his mind. No more Vontae Carters.

Any UK RPers here?

<Snipped quote by Morden Man>

Someone sounds salty

@Mr_pink

No salt on my part. I'm happy to contribute a little more so that more working class kids get the chance at an education, better that than paying nothing and have access to higher education be the preserve of the affluent.

Any UK RPers here?

When you live in Scotland and your tuition's free...

@McHaggis

And yet despite their lack of tuition fees fewer disadvantaged kids make it to university in Scotland than the rest of the UK.

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Three hours ago Antwan Dixon had been out on the hard-court putting up a record high fifty-nine points. Now he was sat in a Pickett County Sherriff’s Department interrogation room ignoring the questions of a Deputy Calhoun. He’d wondered when he’d saw the name on her badge whether she was related to Coach Calhoun, he wouldn’t have been surprised, Pickett County was a very small place at the best of times. It was certainly small enough that when news spread of his arrest he’d be hearing about it from a lot of people. That was the last thing Antwan needed.

Deputy Calhoun sat back in her chair and muttered, for what must have been the twentieth time, “Where’d the weed come from, Antwan?”

“Lawyer.”

Antwan wasn’t stupid. He’d seen enough cop shows to know how these things worked. They weren’t meant to be asking him questions without a lawyer in the room and given he was a minor that was doubly bad.

“That’s how you want to play this one? You sure about that?”

Antwan smiled, “Lawyer.”

Deputy Calhoun swore under her breath with frustration and leant towards him.

“Work with me on this and we can work something out here.”

Did this bitch really think he didn’t know the old good cop/bad cop routine? Any minute now some longhaired, stubbly motherfucker that smelled of whiskey was going to burst into the room and threaten to wail on him with a phone book. He would sit it out and wait for his lawyer to get here and he wouldn’t say another goddamned word until that happened. Anything he’d say now would only get him in more trouble.

Sensing her line of inquiry wasn’t working, Calhoun let out a heavy up from her seat and rested on the back of it. She stared at Antwan for a few moments before she let out a heavy sigh.

“You’re a good kid, Antwan, a talented one at that. What was it last night? Fifty-nine points? You could walk into any college team in the country off the back of that performance, even with this on your sheet. But what about Jayson? You think the world’s going to be as kind to him?”

Jayson? As much as it embarrassed him to think it, Antwan hadn’t thought about Jayson at all since he’d entered the interview room. What if he’d said something? Jayson wasn’t exactly a soft touch but he was a little too sentimental for his own good at times. Growing up big can do that to a person.

The weed had come from Jayson’s side. What if they’d made him say something? He wouldn’t last a second on the inside, Antwan knew that much, from what he’d heard about prison them boys would eat Jayson alive. He couldn’t let that happen to him. He wouldn’t let that happen to him.

Clearly Calhoun sensed his apprehension because she smiled in his direction, “I didn’t think so.”

“You help us on this and we’ll take that into consideration, Antwan. I don’t want Jayson sitting in a prison cell over this any more than you do, but the only way we can make sure that doesn’t happen is if you tell us where you got the drugs.”

For a second Antwan considered what his Uncle Chew might do in his situation. Chew was a soldier through and through, he’d keep his mouth shut and do whatever time he had coming to him and he’d expect the same of any of his friends. But if the other day had taught Antwan anything it was that Chew was not the man he thought he was and that he certainly wasn’t anyone to admire. There was nothing brave about rotting away in a cell when you didn’t have to and there was certainly nothing brave about letting a friend do it because of your mistake.

He wouldn’t let Jayson get punished for his mistake.

“You’ll help Jayson?”

Calhoun’s eyes began to glow with anticipation. “You have my word, son.”

Antwan opened his mouth to speak but faltered slightly as the door to the interview room burst open and another Deputy came striding in. Emblazoned on his chest was the surname “Andrews” and from the way he carried himself he seemed like Calhoun’s superior or at least he thought he was, Antwan couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in truth but the man seemed like he meant business.

“Deputy,” Andrews said abruptly as he gestured outside. “A word.”

A look of incredulity appeared on Deputy Calhoun’s face for the briefest moment. Once she noticed Antwan was looking at her she smiled politely in his direction and pushed the chair she had been leaning on back underneath the table.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Antwan.”

*****

Michelle Lewis walked back to her car with Antwan and Jayson in tow without saying a word to either of them. She had not long arrived home after her son’s game when the called had come in from the Deputy’s Office that her son had been arrested shortly afterwards. At first she thought it was some kind of prank but when the nice man on the phone had told her about the Dodge Charger her son had been riding in she knew it was for real. Drugs? Drugs? Michelle knew she wasn’t exactly in a position to say much to her son on that but she never thought he’d be stupid enough after how hard he’d worked.

She’d had to wait a time after arriving there. It was so much busier than Michelle had thought it would have been, she’d even overheard an argument between two of the deputies, though over what she couldn’t quite work out. Not long after they’d let Antwan and Jayson go on verbal warnings given neither had actually smoked any of the weed and warned them that next time they’d be seeing the inside of a prison cell. Michelle was thankful they chose to use their discretion on this one. Maybe PCSD wasn’t too bad after all?

As they entered Michelle’s sedan, Austin muttered in a defeated voice. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Michelle couldn’t bring herself to look at her son, she was so angry at him for doing something so moronic. It wasn’t the drugs she took exception to so much as his potentially squandering the gifts for nothing. He didn’t realise how lucky he was to have those gifts. How close he’d come to losing them tonight.

Finally she turned her head to face her son and glared at him, “Where’d you get the drugs, Antwan?”

Antwan stared down at his hands. It was in these moments that Michelle wanted to reach out and embrace her son, tell him everything was okay, but that wasn’t what he needed.

“Answer me, boy.”

They sat in silence in the parked car as Michelle waited for her son to speak up and take ownership of his mistake by telling her where the drugs had come from. That he was so unwilling lead her to suspect she already knew where he’d got them and Jayson answering in Antwan’s place confirmed her suspicions.

“It was Roland.”

Antwan looked back at Jayson in the passenger seat with eyes brimming with contempt. “What the fuck, Jayson?”

“I knew it,” Michelle said with a bemused smile. “I knew that vulture was behind this.”

It was one thing when Roland was giving Antwan gifts and buttering him up because he knew her baby was on his way to the league. That made sense, in a kind of depraved, self-serving sense, as much it might have incensed Michelle that Roland did it. What possible benefit could he get from giving the boy weed? It didn’t make any sense, all it did was hurt the boy’s prospects and make it harder for him to get a return on all the “investments” he’d made in Antwan.

From the look in her son’s eyes she could see, despite all of this, Antwan was still fond of Roland. “He’s not a vulture, Mom.”

Now more than ever she wanted to tear into the man but from the look in her son’s eyes she could tell it wouldn’t do any good. Instead she started the car and began to back out of the tiny Sheriff Department’s parking lot.

“You’re getting rid of that car he gave you,” Michelle said firmly. “Yes, the one you think I didn’t know about.”

A look of disgust spread across Antwan’s face.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want his ill-gotten money anywhere near you or our family anymore, Antwan. Do you hear me? That means the car goes. Any cash or jewelry he gave you goes too. And if I so much as ever smell weed on you, boy, I’ll kick your ass to the curb.”

Antwan shook his head. “No.”

Michelle scoffed in disbelief at her son’s front, “Excuse me?” It was like he had zero concept of exactly how much trouble he was in. That was her fault, Michelle thought, she had been too soft on him.

Instead of backing down, Antwan doubled down. “You heard me.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. In her mirror she saw Jayson trying desperately to glance out of the window as he acted as if he weren’t there. Kind of hard to disappear when you’re nearly three hundred pounds. Maybe Antwan was acting out, trying to front for Jayson.

“You think you’re a big man now, huh?”

“All I know is that Mr. Spencer put food on our table when you were more concerned with putting that filth in your veins. Where were you then? Huh? Where were you? And now you want me to throw his generosity back in his face? No, I won’t do it.”

Every word was like a dagger in Michelle’s heart. She’d never heard her son talk about that part of her life before and she’d never considered how much hearing about him talking about it would hurt. If only he understood what she’d been through, what she’d lost, maybe he’d forgive her for her weakness then. If Marcus were still around she’d have been strong for Antwan, so strong, but the love of her life was gone and she’d let her baby boy down when he needed him the most because of it. When he ought to have been mourning for his father he was worrying about where his mother was that night.

She’d never forgive herself for that fact and apparently neither would Antwan. Not that she blamed him. Michelle wanted to open her mouth, to tell her son he was wrong, to give him the firm hand he desperately needed but her whole body felt weak with shock at Antwan’s words.

For the first time in his life Antwan Dixon sounded like a man. Not one that his mother liked.

Any UK RPers here?

There seems to be a fair few of us knocking about.

DC Universe: Gods Among Us (Always Open)

@GreenGrenade This thing was good fun whilst it lasted. More importantly though, I hope everything's good with you in regards to the RL issues you were having.

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Antwan Dixon was steaming. He’d been steaming ever since he and Jayson had been to visit Chew that morning. Coach Calhoun had been peppering him with questions all afternoon because even he could sense something was wrong. It didn’t matter though, Antwan wasn’t going to let it get in the way of their game tonight. He’d worked too goddamned hard to let something like that from his off his game. Instead he’d use it as motivation, he’d play harder than he’d ever played before, show Chew what a fool he’d been for sending him away like that.

It had worked a little too well.

Antwan had played like a man possessed. He racked up fifty-two points, eight rebounds, and eleven assists and his team hadn’t trailed once. Entering the fourth quarter they had been up by nearly thirty-points and it was clear that barring some Old Testament-level catastrophe they were all but guaranteed passage through to the next round of the county tournament. But Antwan wasn’t done, he wasn’t even close to being done. He dribbled the ball up court furiously and took a quick glance up at the scoreboard as he began to weigh up his options.

From the sidelines he heard the sound of Coach Calhoun’s voice shouting out, “Timeout.”

A look of annoyance flashed over Antwan’s face. He bounced the ball to one of the officials and followed his teammates over to the sideline. He could see his mother and Jayson sat with one another in the stands as he joined the huddle.

“What say we let the backups see this one out?”

“Fuck that,” Antwan said with a shake of his head. “Leave me in the game, coach.”

“What? We’re up twenty-six points, Antwan, I’m won’t risk you getting hurt so you can pad your stats. You’re sitting down.”

Antwan could feel the eyes of his teammate’s boring into his skull as Calhoun talked in his direction. He was barely even listening, replaying his encounter with Chew earlier in the day over and over again instead, but caught the end of the sentence. Antwan shook his head, determined not to let himself be bossed around for the second time in a day, and began to wander back on the court.

“Like hell I am.”

“You’re done,” Coach Calhoun said, raising his voice a little, as he reached out to grab Antwan by the arm.

Antwan slapped it away instinctively, “I’m done when I say I’m done.”

He knew he’d stepped over the line, he could see the look of shock on Coach Calhoun’s face, but it was too late to go back. He strode out onto the court on his own without so much as a glance back towards the sideline and Calhoun reluctantly sent out four backups to play alongside him.

Antwan eyed the opposing team’s point guard as he dribbled the ball up court. He was shorter than Antwan by some way, dark-skinned, but slightly heavier and far less defined. Basketball was a game to him, Antwan could see that, his handles were sloppy, he sagged off every time he had to guard him, and his conditioning was terrible. Antwan thought back to all those hours spent running suicides with Chew, to the tears that had run down his cheeks out of exhausation, and how he’d forced himself to keep going despite everything. The fat fuck opposite him didn’t even have the self-discipline to get in basketball shape. It made him angry.

As he bore down on the ball, Antwan muttered to him, “Aren’t you tired of being shitted on all fucking night?”

There was a defeated look on the boy’s face, but he was determined not to let Antwan’s words get to him. “Just fucking play the game, big shot.”

Antwan knocked down a jumpshot in the boy’s face and then pointed towards the scoreboard. Fifty-four.

“Play the game? Have you seen the scoreboard, motherfucker? I’m the only person out here that has been playing.”

No response. Wordlessly the boy received the inbounds pass from his center and dribbled up the court, desperate not to make eye contact with Antwan. It wasn’t him that Antwan was angry at, he knew that, it was his uncle, but the words get tumbling from his mouth as he forced him into a bad shot.

“That’s weak,” Antwan said with a smug grin. “You’re gonna need to do better than that.”

Antwan caught the outlet pass in transition and passed up on a wide-open dunk in order to wait for the struggling point guard to catch up with him. He dribbled the ball through his legs a few times, his eyes locked onto the eye’s of the boy opposite, before whispering across to him.

“You get a stop and I stop talking.”

He could see his taunting was getting to the boy, who reached out to swipe the ball from Antwan, “Just play, man.”

At the last second Antwan moved the ball away and lifted off the ground and flung the ball in the direction of the hoop.

“That’s money.”

Antwan turned his back on the basket and began to run back to defend before the ball had even passed through it. He heard that sweet swish as it passed through the net and the roar of the crowd. Fifty-six.

“One last chance,” Antwan said, his grin reappearing. “Come on, I’ll make it easy for your no-game having ass. Through the legs, half spin, drive the lane.”

He did exactly as he’d said, dribbling the ball through his legs into a half spin, and then drove the lane. The opposing point guard leapt into the air to contest the shot and Antwan rose over him, pushing him down with his free hand as he did so, and threw down a thunderous dunk that brought the house down. As the boy tumbled to the ground Antwan stood over him, glaring at him with intent. Fifty-eight.

From beside him, Antwan saw a giant pair of hands thrust in his direction. The other team’s power forward shoved him backwards away from his point guard and Antwan smiled, sufficiently pleased he’d got under the other team’s skin. The whistle sounded as the power forward was hit with a technical foul by one of the officials and Antwan stepped up to knock down the resulting free throw. Fifty-nine.

Coach Calhoun, red in the face with embarrassment, barked in Antwan’s direction and satisfied he’d made his point, Antwan wandered back over to the bench to take a seat. His teammates patted him on the shoulder as he stared across the court at the opposing team. The point guard looked broken, defeated, and for a moment a pang of guilt ran through Antwan as he considered that the footage of his dunking on him would be played nationwide for the next week. Antwan had humiliated him and for what? Nothing.

Fuck it.

Fuck him, fuck Coach Calhoun, and fuck Chew Lewis.

*****

Something was wrong with Antwan. He’d played the game of his life and that dunk at the end had been something else, but something was definitely wrong. In all the years Jayson Aaron had known Antwan he’d never seen him play with the kind of nastiness he’d played with tonight. It was almost hard to root for him at the end there. There was something perverse about the thought that it was that Antwan the world would see when that dunk made it to Sportscenter that night. Whoever it was out there on the court tonight, it definitely wasn’t the real Antwan Dixon.

He’d sat in the passenger seat of Antwan’s Charger as they went for their customary post-game drive and mulled over whether he ought to say something. An hour and a half had passed and eventually Jayson found the courage to broach the subject with his friend.

“What was that back there, man? I’ve never seen you like that before,” Jayson said. “Talking trash, going after that guy like that, that’s not who you are.”

Jayson knew the answer to his question before it had even left his mouth. Antwan had been acting a little out of sorts since they’d left Dante’s apartment that morning but they hadn’t spoken about it at all since. Emotional availability wasn’t exactly Antwan’s thing. Heck, it wasn’t Jayson’s thing either when he thought about it. Talking about your emotions wasn’t exactly the done thing in Norman and he didn’t expect that to change anytime soon.

And then Antwan surprised him, “I guess that shit with Chew earlier got to me more than I thought.”

Jayson rubbed his chubby chin a little as he glanced out at the endless fields of Pickett. Their drive had taken them far from Norman, further even that they usually ventured, out here made Jardin look downright metropolitan. The isolation ought to have made talking about their feelings more comfortable but in a way the inside of the car felt even more restricting than a busy night in Norman.

“You wanna, I dunno, talk about it or something?”

“I’m good,” Antwan muttered. “You wanna hit this shit with me?”

Antwan reached across Jayson’s lap into the glove compartment and pulled out a small baggy of weed that he dangled in front of his face with a mischievous grin. Jayson hadn’t expected Antwan to want to talk, in fact he’d been shocked he was willing to even admit anything was wrong, but this was more shocking by a factor of a hundred. He couldn’t believe Antwan could be so stupid.

“What the fuck is that?”

Antwan shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, “What does it look like?”

“It looks like weed,” Jayson said, shaking his head. “But it can’t be weed because I know you’re not stupid enough to risk everything you’ve worked for your entire life to get high like every other dead-end nigga from Norman.”

It wasn’t just that either, Jayson thought, he couldn’t believe Antwan would go near drugs after what they’d done to his mother when he was growing up. He’d never mention it to him, he never did mention it, but it seemed counterintuitive to hate his moms for being addicted to the pipe if you were up for hitting a blunt. Jayson knew weed wasn’t exactly the same thing but they were in South Carolina, not Colorado, and the last time he checked it was still illegal. No amount of Chew Lewis-induced stress would change that.

Antwan looked at Jay as if trying to persuade him, “Come on, Jay.”

“Fuck that,” Jayson fumed. “Where did you even get that shit, man?”

“Roland couldn’t be at the game tonight. He said he had a meeting or something, so he hooked me up by way of an apology.”

“Yeah, well, Roland ought to know better.”

He’d thought Roland was cool the first time he’d met him. He’d come from nothing in Norman like them and made something of his life. More than that, he was more than happy to be there for Antwan, for all the talented kids in Norman, whenever they needed a little extra something to make ends meet or pay the bills. That took heart. But this? This was something else.

His heart pounding in his mouth, Jayson reached over and snatched the bag of weed out of Antwan’s hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m saving you from doing something really stupid, Antwan.”

Jayson rolled down his window and threw the bag of weed out of the window of the speeding Dodge. As he felt the bag leave his hand it was like a weight being lifted off his chest. If they’d been caught with that everything the two of them had spent the past decade and a half dreaming about would have turned to ashes in their mouths.

It was only then that Jayson saw it. A flash of red and blue light in the rearview mirror that seemed to last a second too long. He was dreaming right? He had to be dreaming.

“Pickett County Sheriff’s Department,” boomed a voice over a speakerphone. “Stop the vehicle.”

Jayson glanced at Antwan’s face, white with terror, and began to shake his head in disbelief.

“Oh, fuck.”

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Dante Fulsome was woken from his slumber by the sound of banging from his front door and sat up with a heavy sigh. He could still smell the Jack Daniels and Coke on his breath, amongst other things, and his head was throbbing. He’d taken Chew to Club 65 to celebrate his being a free man and they’d stayed out until the early hours of the morning. It was the first time Dante had seen Chew smiling properly since he’d got out. Whatever happened in there, whatever it is he saw, or whoever got to him, Chew had changed and Dante wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good thing. He’d never been the talkative sort, not even before things went south on that deal with those Georgia boys, but he was even more reserved than Dante remembered. Hell, Chew had even turned him down when he’d offered to pay to get him some company for the night. What kind of man turned down free tail?

He shrugged and climbed out of his bed, steadying himself on his bedroom wall as he stood up, and threw on a pair of discarded boxers. He wasn’t sure if they were clean and he didn’t quite care. All he wanted to do was get whoever the hell it was banging on his front door to fuck off so he could get some more sleep. Though Dante kept himself in good shape there was no denying he was technically no longer a young man. How bad he felt the morning after a night out had only confirmed that to him.

He staggered out of his bedroom and past Chew, who laid asleep on the couch with drool rolling down his cheek, before stopping to peer through the peephole of his apartment door to see who was outside. It was Antwan Dixon, Chew’s nephew, and some other kid Dante didn’t recognise, but damn was that boy big. He looked like a black Michelin Man.

Dante opened the door slowly and squinted as the light from the hallway shone in his face, “What’s good, ‘Twan? You couldn’t have called ahead or something? I’ve got the worst fucking hangover of all time.”

“Sorry,” Antwan said as he gave Dante some dap. “I’m here to see my Uncle.”

Antwan looked more and more like Marcus every time Dante saw him. There was still something of Michelle there though, his features weren’t as hard as his father’s had been, and his eyes were far too fair to have come from Marcus. But there was enough of Marcus there to make Dante feel uncomfortable, he could only begin to imagine how uncomfortable it would make Chew feel.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Dante said as he gestured Antwan inside. “Come on inside, motherfucker.”

Dante stepped aside to let Antwan in but put out an outstretched hand as the fat boy tried to follow him in. Antwan he knew, but this kid? He didn’t know a thing about him and Dante didn’t trust people he didn’t know anything about. Especially not in a town like Norman.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can wait outside, Fatrick Ewing.”

He could see the thinly veiled pain on the boy’s face.

From behind him Dante heard the voice of Antwan call out to him, “Chill, Dante, that’s my boy Jayson.”

“Jayson Aaron? Alicia’s boy? Shit,” Dante said with a bemused shake of the head. “You know I was only playing, right? I mean, I ain’t about to pretend you’re not a big boy but I wouldn’t have clowned you like that if I knew who you were. You know that, right?”

Of course, he neglected to mention that Alicia had let him and a few of the other neighbourhood guys hit it a few times back in the day. She wasn’t exactly a skinny girl back then and from what Dante had seen of her since she’d kept packing on the pounds long after she’d had Jayson. The little homie didn’t have a chance.

For once, Dante actually felt bad. “No hard feelings?”

Jayson reached out and shook his hand, though the look in his eye told Dante he was still smarting from what he’d said. “No hard feelings.”

Life was hard enough in Norman without having thin skin. People got clowned on every single day for the way they looked, the way they dressed, the way they spoke, and you had to learn quickly how to laugh at yourself or learn how to throw hands. Somehow Dante suspected that Jayson had avoided that choice, soaking up Antwan’s reflected glory all of these years had fooled him into thinking life would go easy on him. Dante had some stories that might teach both of them that life in Norman was anything but. It would always be anything but.

Dante kicked the base of the couch with his bare feet, shaking the sleeping Chew Lewis until his eyes began to open. “Wake the fuck up, Chew, we got visitors.”

*****

Chew’s eyes crept open slowly and he noticed Dante Fulsome stood over him. Behind the coffee table in the centre of the room was the biggest teenager Chew had ever seen in his life and… a ghost. It was Marcus Dixon. But how? It couldn’t be Marcus, Chew thought with a shake of his head. It was only when the boy opened his mouth he realised it was his nephew Antwan. He looked so much like his father that even after hearing his voice it was hard to believe it wasn’t him.

“What’s up, Chew? It’s been a while.”

It was an understatement if Chew had ever heard one. As much as Dante had tried to convince him that not much had changed in Norman, Chew felt more out of place there than he’d ever done before. He felt like the world had moved on without him. The only thing he had left tying him to this place was his sister and her son and Michelle didn’t want anything to do with him. Not that he blamed her for that. If Antwan knew what had happened, what he’d done, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him either.

Chew sat up in his couch and looked at his nephew blankly, “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here? You’re my uncle, man, I came to see how you were. That not allowed or something?”

Chew could hear the hurt in his voice. Before he’d gone away he’d been everything to Antwan. The closest thing to a father he’d have since his wasn’t around anymore, a coach, and a mentor to boot. Whilst the other kids were playing with their imaginary friends Chew had Antwan out on the court working on his fundamentals. He’d have to hone those if he wanted to make it out of Norman. Plenty of kids better than Antwan was at that age flamed out, amounted to nothing, and were never heard of again. He wanted more than that for Antwan. He knew what Norman could do to a young man, he’d seen it with his own eyes, he’d lived it. Antwan wasn’t going to relive his father’s life and he definitely wasn’t going to relive Chew’s life, not if Chew could help it.

And the best way to do that was to stay as far away from him as possible. It’s what his sister had told him to do the last time they’d spoken and he intended to listen to his sister for once. After what he’d done to her he could never refuse another thing she asked of him. That much Chew knew for certain.

His nephew’s face was awash with disappointment but Chew steeled himself and shook his head, “You can’t be here, Antwan.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

The memories Chew had of training with Antwan back when he was barely old enough to loft the ball above his head had got him through prison. Knowing his nephew had become a sensation, hearing from the other prisoners about the player Antwan had become, it had kept him alive in there. But he’d made his sister a promise.

“Look, your moms wouldn’t want you here, Antwan. You know that.”

“Fuck my moms, man.”

Chew leapt up from the couch and grabbed his nephew by his collar, “You don’t ever talk about her like that. You hear me? That woman sacrificed more for you than you’ll ever know, boy.”

“Whatever man,” Antwan muttered. “Get off me.”

Chew released him and the boy took a few steps backwards. He was mean-mugging, doing his best to make out that his uncle hadn’t scared him, but it wasn’t working. Chew looked at Jayson and Dante, who had been stood silently throughout, and suddenly felt a pang of embarrassment. He stepped back and slouched back into the couch with a sigh.

He was a disappointment. How long had Antwan dreamt of being reunited with him, the man that had taught him everything he knew about basketball? And this was all Chew had to offer him by way of reunion, excuses about why he couldn’t speak to him? He’d have been disappointed in him too if he were in Antwan’s shoes.

“You know what? I don’t know why I even bothered coming,” Antwan said, his hands still shaking with shock. “Jayson, let’s get out of here and leave these has beens alone.”

Antwan reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked to be a poorly wrapped present. He threw it down on the coffee table in front of Chew and followed Jayson out of Dante’s apartment, slamming the door shut as he went. It made Chew wince, everything about the encounter had made him wince, but his ailing head could have done without Antwan slamming the door shut. Chew looked at Dante, who was shaking his head in disbelief at the exchange, and then stared at the ground emptily.

“Shit,” Dante said with a sigh. “That shit was heavy, man.”

*****

Opposite Roland Spencer sat Billy Brown. To the untrained eye Billy had the look of an unassuming man. The thick-lensed glasses that sat atop his large nose, his propensity to have his head buried in a book, and the fact he was, to put it kindly, not in the best shape all reinforced that impression. To those that knew though, Billy Brown was the most powerful man in Pickett County and as a result one was expected to pay him due diligence. Today Roland was paying his.

It had been close to a decade and a half since Roland had first sought out Billy Brown. Roland was a broken man then, with barely a penny to his name, but his wits were sharp and Billy seemed to value intellect in a person. Intelligence often, though not always, manifested itself in competence and in the line of work Billy was in that trait was especially important. He’d seen something in Roland that day, agreed to bankroll Roland’s little venture, and Roland had become a rich man as a result. Spencer’s Tires and Rims had gone from strength to strength over the years, opening new branches across the county, and Billy had seen a huge return on his investment.

That wasn’t enough for Roland though. Oh no, he’d wanted to expand out across into Georgia, told Billy he dreamed of reaching out as far as Atlanta, and he needed Billy’s help to do that. It wasn’t so much a question of money anymore as influence. There were certain hands that needed greasing, regulations that had to be met, that for all of Roland’s wealth could only be achieved with the type of pull that Billy Brown had. So they had struck a new deal, one with Antwan Dixon at the center of it.

Gus showing up at the shop had spooked Roland a little. As he sat opposite Billy in a booth at Club 65 and anxiously recounted the discussion he’d had with Deacon Harris to him, he couldn’t help but feel like Billy felt he was wasting his time. As Roland’s tale came to a stop Billy removed his glasses, rubbing them clean, before smiling softly at Roland in a way that unsettled him. Billy’s smile had always made him feel uncomfortable. A man that vicious shouldn’t be capable of smiling.

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

Roland raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? I mean, people respect Gus around these parts. If he starts making noise on this one it could mean trouble for us.”

Perhaps Billy didn’t quite understand how things worked in Norman, Roland thought to himself, aware he’d never have the courage to speak that sentence aloud. As long as Billy had ruled the roost in Pickett County, he couldn’t understand how things worked there, no one could unless they were from there. Even the crackers that were born and raised in Norman had trouble understanding the politics of the place. Gus Harris might not have been Gene Parker but folks in Norman trusted him more than they ever would the Sheriff’s Department.

“Trust me,” Billy smiled. “Deacon Harris won’t be making any noise on this one.”

“You have something on him?”

Again Billy smiled and again Roland found himself incapable of maintaining eye contact when he did, “Let’s just say that Deacon Harris had some rather addictive habits before he found God.”

That was it? That couldn’t be it. Gus had admittedly that freely to Roland when he’d stopped by the shop the over day to talk about Antwan. They had to have pictures? Something? That wasn’t enough, Roland thought, but peculiarly found himself not saying a word. Why? Billy and he had common purpose, stopping Gus in his tracks helped both of them, but here he was holding out on the most powerful man in town. It could cost him, it could cost them both, but try as he might Roland couldn’t bring himself to tell Billy that alone wouldn’t bring Gus down.

And then it snapped into place as he glanced up at Brown’s smile. There was a part of Roland that resented Brown, resented the part he’d played in Roland’s success, and every time they met it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t strong enough to make it on his own. He’d always be on the hook to Billy Brown and knowing this, knowing something he didn’t know, made Roland feel like he had a little power in the dynamic for once.

Suddenly Brown’s voice cut Roland’s mental tangent short and dragged him back to reality, “You just be worried about keeping up your end of the deal.”

“Worried? What would I have to be worried about? The tire company is bringing in even more than we thought it would.”

“You think I don’t know what goes on in my own business, Roland? I’m talking about the kid.”

His business? The words grated against Roland’s very being. He prided himself on being a self-made man, built his whole reputation around it, and if he didn’t know better he’d think Billy was deliberately trying to cut him down to size. The fact it was deliberate made it even worse. Billy didn’t see him as a threat, nor as an equal, Roland was his employee. That more than anything hurt Spencer’s pride.

Roland sighed, “As long as Gus is kept in line, I don’t anticipate any more trouble. I mean, the decision is still a year away but I think I’ll have his ear when it comes to it. Antwan will make the right choice.”

“Good, because a lot of people have a lot of money riding on this thing.”

“They won’t be disappointed.”

“I trust not,” Billy said, his voice becoming thick with menace all of a sudden. ”Because if that boy so much as thinks out loud about going anywhere other than South Carolina, they’re going to need a whole fucking crew of CSI guys to prove you even existed, Roland, let alone find your body.”

Roland had been threatened before. In his youth he had something of a penchant for finding himself in sticky situations, usually induced by some rye that brought out the worst in him. In all his years no man had made him feel the way Billy Brown had in that moment. The soft smile that had adorned Brown’s face had disappeared and only a steely looked was left in its wake that told Roland that he was being deadly serious. For a moment Roland reflected on his folly in ever wishing himself free of Billy’s command, considered that somehow he’d sensed his insubordination, that he knew he was holding out on him. Should he have told him about Gus? Fuck, he should have told him. It was too late for that now though.

Suddenly Billy’s smile appeared again.

“Have a nice night, Roland.”

Silently Roland walked away from the booth and out of Club 65 without so much as a glance in Wendell or Lisa’s direction. His legs felt weak but somehow he made it out to his car and inside without them giving out. For a few moments Roland sat, his brow now damp with sweat, as his imagination ran wild about what Billy would do if Roland couldn’t keep his end of the deal.

Suddenly he felt a burning sensation in his throat and managed to burst the car door open in time for vomit to come squirting from his mouth into the gravel. He stared down at the deposited contents of his stomach for a few moments, his body shaking with tension, before wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

God help him.

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

Jayson Aaron was Antwan Dixon’s best friend. He’d grow up a street away from Antwan’s house and played Center on every AAU team Antwan had been on since the age of seven. That was, until he’d begun to pack on the pounds a little and moving around the court started being a little troublesome for him. He loved basketball more than anything, to this day he swore he had the sickest handles of any Center in Pickett County, but food was his first love. It had been two years since he’d last set foot on a set of scales but he figured he was well on his way to three hundred pounds. Were he anyone else in Norman, he’d never hear the end of it, but luckily for Jayson being best friends with Antwan had plenty of benefits. Not being bullied for his weight was one of them.

So was getting to ride in the passenger seat of the brand new Charger Antwan had been given by Mr. Spencer for his performance the other night.

“I can’t believe Roland gave you this ride, man, this thang is tight.”

Antwan shrugged his shoulders casually, “Yeah, well, you know Roland and me are cool like that. The kind of paper he’s making? I reckon he could give ten of these babies away without it even making a dent in his pocketbook.”

Suddenly Jayson’s chubby brown face began to crumple up in the way it always did when he had an idea,“You think he’d give one to me?”

As loyal to Antwan as Jayson was, he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the box. He knew that though and he figured that made him better than all the potheads in Norman that thought they were philosophers. He’d heard a saying once, something about known unknowns and unknown knowns or something like that. He wasn’t sure how exactly it applied to him but he had a feeling one of them did.

“Keep dreaming,” Antwan said with a chuckle.

“It’s not gonna matter once you’ve made it in the league,” Jayson said with a smile. “You’re going to be making so much paper that even Roland’s gonna seem broke in comparison.”

One more year of high school ball, one of college or even playing overseas if Antwan wanted to get that paycheck early, and then Antwan would be playing in the same league as LeBron James. It was unreal, Jayson couldn’t wait until he could tell the whole world he’d played on the same team as the Antwan Dixon. Heck, he’d even beaten him one-on-one a few times back when they were eight. It wasn’t much but it was more than anyone else would be able to say.

“Damn straight,” Antwan beamed. “But I’m gonna take care of my people first. Get my moms out of Pickett first, some big house in California for the two of us.”

Suddenly a flicker of nervousness flashed across Jayson’s face. He’d never envied Antwan, not once, but there was one thing he was worried about more than anything else. Once Antwan left Pickett, Jayson Aaron would no longer be Antwan Dixon’s best friend, he’d be fair game for the first time in a decade. They’d been together for so long that the thought of being on his own scared him more than he’d ever admit out loud. Luckily he didn’t need to.

Antwan spotted his friend’s apprehension and looked across at him in the passenger seat, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you and yours get a little something something too, Jayson. You think I’m about to forget about you? Come on, man. You know me better than that. You’ll be out in Cali with me.”

Instantly Jayson’s fears were put to bed. Antwan wasn’t without his faults. He had a temper, something he said he’d inherited from his dad, and could be a little self-regarding at times, but disloyalty was not something he could ever be accused of. When Antwan said he’d look after his people, he really would look after them, and it was that trait that Jayson appreciated in his friend more than his fame or his skill with a basketball. It was that which made him unique.

They drove around for a time through the long, winding roads of Norman, crossing Jardin, and even passing by Saloon City briefly before heading back. Jayson insisted, as he always did, that they bump Buddy Cuz throughout. He could talk for hours about how South Carolina rappers would shit all over rappers from Georgia and North Carolina if they were given the same amount of radio play.

Eventually they came to a stop outside of the old park where they’d come to play as kids. Jayson remembered playing tag here until he was red in the face and long the days used to seem then. He’d watch whilst Antwan worked on his free throws whilst he and the rest of kids would muck around and have water fights. He’d felt bad for him then, the look he used to get on his face whilst he did it, like he wanted to be doing anything but playing basketball.

Antwan looked over at his friend in the passenger seat, clearly lost in thought, before punching him in the leg to catch his attention, “You know Chew’s getting out this week.”

“For real?”

Chew Lewis. Every kind that grew up in Norman knew about Chew, they’d spread rumours about his exploits, the kind of things he was meant to have done.

“Yeah. Seems like a lifetime since he went away, man. It’s going to be good to have him back. All that nonsense with my moms, none of that would have happened if Chew were still around. Whole family’s about to be back together once he’s out.”

It was the first time Jayson had heard Antwan talk about that period in his mom’s life in a long time. Even Jayson felt bad thinking about the kind of things he’d heard she’d got up to after Antwan’s dad had died. Seeing her that way, hearing about the things she’d done, it was enough to scare him away from drugs for the rest of his life. Antwan rarely spoke about it and even less frequently acknowledged it had even happened. Jayson couldn’t say he blamed him for that. He’d probably do the same.

But with Chew back everything would be different. The man was the definition of an OG.

“Is it true what they say about him? He really walk all those guys out into The Bog and none of them come back?”

“I don’t know,” Antwan said with a shake of his head. “And I don’t wanna know, man, all I know is it’s going to be good to have him back.”

Jayson nodded as he reached for the dial on the radio and leant back in his seat, “I hear that.”

*****

Michelle Lewis sat opposite from Gus Harris and eyed him anxiously as he took a generous mouthful of sweet tea. He’d insisted they meet again at Hobie’s Diner despite liking very little on the menu outside of the sweet tea. She’d never seen a man gulp it down as greedily as Deacon Harris did, it was an endearing sight to see a man in his position to do something so unbecoming. Once he set down his empty glass he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked in Michelle’s direction.

“I spoke with Roland.”

That was it? Seriously? Michelle’s brow furrowed, “And?”

“Let’s just say that he wasn’t too receptive to taking a less active role in Antwan’s life and leave it at that.”

She wasn’t sure why she expecting anything other than that response. He had invested too much in Antwan already, both in terms of money and time, there was no way he’d walk away from it without getting some kind of return.

“Jesus,” Michelle muttered under her breath as it began to dawn on her how overmatched they were. “Oh, sorry about that,” she added sheepishly upon realising whose company she was in.

“It’s fine, I’ve heard much worse in my time, Michelle.”

His impish smile told Michelle that he’d said a lot worse too.

“You know he gave Antwan a Charger? He didn’t even ask my permission. Who thinks giving an eleventh-grader a brand new car is appropriate? I swear to God, he’s not going to be happy until he gets my baby killed.”

Antwan had always thought he was cleverer than his mother, ever since he was a young boy, but stealth certainly wasn’t his thing. He’d hidden the car a few blocks away from the house in an attempt to hide it from Michelle but had driven straight past it to pick Jayson up last night. He hadn’t even bothered to roll the windows up as he past the house. If she didn’t know her son better than that, Michelle would have thought it was an act of open defiance. That Jayson had attempted to duck as they drove past the house a second time all but confirmed that it wasn’t.

After a couple of seconds of deliberation Deacon Harris shrugged his shoulders, “You could always speak to the Sheriff’s Department if you’re serious about getting him to leave Antwan alone.”

“PCSD? You think a man as rich as Roland Spencer doesn’t have someone on the inside there? You think the people he fronts that tire company of his for don’t have people in there? Come on.”

“It was just a suggestion.”

Pickett County Sheriff’s Department might have had a good reputation amongst some of the other parts of the county but in Norman their name was as good as dirt. Eugene Parker had earned the respect of the African-American community over the years, most considered him an even-handed man and fair to boot, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the department. There had been rumblings for as long as Michelle could remember that some of them were dirty.

Helplessly, Michelle threw her hands in the air and let out a long, pained sigh. “There’s nothing I can do, is there? I have to stand by and watch whilst that smug bastard takes my son from me.”

“You’re his mother, Michelle, and I know it’s not always been easy between the two of you, but that’s always going to count more than whatever friendship he thinks he has with Roland. Give him some time, he’ll see it soon enough.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that given time her baby would come back to her and thank her for having tried to warn him about Roland from the start. But all the money? That new car of his? It wouldn’t be long before people started getting ideas.

“I’m not sure I have that kind of time.”

A few minutes passed and Deacon Harris poured himself another large glass of sweet tea whilst Michelle played every possible outcome her son’s friendship with Roland could have in her head. None of them were good.

After another large mouthful of sweet tea, Gus cleared his throat and then spoke, though this time in a voice less certain than he usually spoke, “A little birdie told me that Charles is going to be released soon. How do you feel about that?”

Chew. How on Earth had Gus found out he was getting out? Michelle had almost forgotten and he was her blood. She shouldn’t have been surprised he knew about Chew getting out, church folk always found these things out before anyone else.

“I came to you to speak about Antwan, Gus, not my piece of shit brother.”

“You know, the past few years will have been tough on Charles.”

Even the mention of her brother’s name made her blood boil. He’d been hero growing up, looked out for her when nobody else would, but she’d never be able to forgive him for what he’d done. She swore to herself five years ago that she’d never go back on that and she felt as strongly now as she did then that it was the right decision.

“Try bringing up a son on your own in Pickett County and then tell me what tough is,” Michelle said with a shake of her head. “I appreciate the concern, but as far as I’m concerned I don’t have a brother anymore.”

With that, Michelle stood up and walked out of Hobie’s leaving Deacon Harris sat alone. There was only man in Michelle’s life and that was Antwan. Once there had been another though, but her brother had seen to it that she’d live the rest of her life diminished by bringing an end to that. By bringing an end to him.

*****

Charles “Chew” Lewis strode out of the prison with a duffel bag sagging over his shoulders. He was a big man, standing all of six feet six tall, with the type of body that would make even the bravest of men think twice. Prison had saw to make him even more of a specimen, though his once curly black hair had been shorn away entirely.

“Look who it is,” Dante Fulsome said in a voice so loud it was as if he were oblivious to his being in public. “The Saloon City Ripper.”

Dante threw his hands around Chew and hugged him. Dante had been a friend of Chew’s before he went inside and since Marcus Dixon was gone he was probably the nearest thing Chew had left to a best friend. In truth, Dante got on Chew’s nerves at the best of times but he had always been handy in a fight despite being a small man and had a knack for finding things. In their old line of work those skills had come in particularly handy.

Fulsome placed his hands on Chew’s chin and titled it side to side, “You haven’t aged a day, motherfucker.”

Chew shrugged as he glanced Dante up and down, “I’d say the same of you but you know I’ve never been too hot on the whole lying thing.”

“Well fuck you, motherfucker, I’ll have you know I moisturize every fucking day.”

Well, that was definitely new. Before Chew had gone inside Dante had been as close to the stereotypical bean-eater as humanly possible. He’d cleaned up some, his short black hair was side-parted and he wore a buttoned down white shirt with trousers, it was almost enough to make Chew think that Dante had gone legit. At least he might do if he didn’t know otherwise.

“You’d better look into getting your money back then,” Chew said with a smile. “Whatever’s in that moisturizing you’re using ain’t worth a goddamn cent.”

Dante burst into laughter and slapped his friend on the back heartily before directing him to the pickup truck opposite the prison.

“It’s good to have you back, man.”

Chew glanced at Dante as he climbed inside the truck and smiled, “It’s good to be back.”

Where was back? He’d only ever known Norman but there was nothing for him there anymore. His sister had all but disowned him after what went down with Marcus and everyone else Chew knew except Dante were either dead or in prison. He wasn’t exactly expecting a surprise party when he got there. Where else could he go though? There was nowhere else. Norman was his life.

As they drove Dante regaled him with tales of varying degrees of interest. His sister had got married, moved to Florida with some Chinese man, and in doing so had broken his mother’s heart. John Norman had thrown in with Billy Brown after the Norman Crime Family had gone down, much to the surprise of everyone in the entire goddamned county, but outside of that it was practically business as usual.

“You get your GED whilst you were in there or should I put in a few calls and let some people know the nastiest motherfucker Norman ever produced is back in business?”

He knew the second he answered that Dante was going to laugh at him. He’d almost laughed at himself when he’d decided it, but the way he saw it he didn’t have much of a choice. “That’s not me anymore, man.”

They stopped at a set of lights and Dante looked at him, completely bemused. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m out of the game,” Chew said with a sigh. “Took too many years of my fucking life as it is, Dante, I’ll be damned if I end up back in that place to line some other guy’s pocket.”

It wasn’t that he was tired of the bloodshed or that he’d decided he wanted to settle down and have kids that had made him changed his mind. It was whilst he was on the inside, listening to stories of guys who’d spend the rest of their lives in that goddamned prison talking about how they didn’t regret a thing. How if they could go back and change how things went down they’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. How fucking dumb did you have to be? It was one thing to throw your life away once but to say you’d do it all over again? He knew then he was done. The gang-banger life wasn’t for him anymore.

“What the fuck else are you going to do? I hate to break it to you, Chew, but the labour market’s not exactly a welcoming place for ex-cons.”

“I don’t care,” Chew said with a shrug. “I’ll find something. Stacking shelves, construction, who the fuck cares? I’m out of the game this time, Dante, I mean it.”

As the lights turned to green and the truck began to pull out, Dante looked at his friend blankly, his face completely emotionless and without expression. Chew couldn’t tell whether it was pity or worry on his face but neither left him feeling particularly comfortable.

Finally Dante let out a long sigh.

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in two week’s time.”

The Pickett County War: A Rural Noir RP

It had been four years ago that Michelle Lewis last came to Deacon Harris for help. He wasn’t exactly sure what she was on then, but she was on something, and she wanted to get clean. Her son Antwan was staying at a friend’s whilst she tried to sort her act out and she needed a safe space to do that. Gus had offered her his couch for a few days, told her he’d help her through it, and she had repaid him by cleaning out his drawers of everything of worth not a day afterwards. Last he’d heard she’d finally got her act together but he’d not seen or heard from her person since, at least not until this morning.

She looked in better shape than before, thicker and more full of life. Her long black hair looked soft to the touch and her clothes were immaculately clean and ironed. Most of all though she had a smile on her face and in all the years she had battled with addiction he’d not once seen that. She really had turned things around. Yet here she was, so something had to be wrong.

“You know, I thought I’d never see you again after what happened.”

Michelle smiled softly, “I kept my distance, Deacon, I was ashamed. I’m ashamed of a lot of things I did back then.”

“We all have things in our past we’d rather forget,” Gus said with a knowing nod. “From the looks of things you’ve turned your life around since, so let’s leave the past in the past, shall we? I don’t see much reason to dwell on it.”

To err is human, to forgive divine. Gus understood that better than most. He had erred time and time again before he had found God and only in His light had he found true forgiveness. It had felt like a weight being lifted free from his chest. All the self-destruction, all the anger, all the bitterness was drained from him in that moment and he hadn’t looked back since. The least he could do is extend that forgiveness to Michelle.

“Thank you, Deacon.”

He shook his head and placed his hand on Michelle’s opposite him, “Call me Gus.”

“Thank you, Gus.”

Gillian, the waitress at Hobie’s Diner, came over and set down two glasses and a jug of sweet tea between Gus and Michelle. The deacon loved sweet tea. He’d have a sweet tooth since birth and had never been quite able to shake it. Something told him the habit might come back to haunt him in later life but what was a man without his vices? He figured that of all the vices, a penchant for sweet things was one of the most acceptable ones.

He reached over, poured a glass for both he and Michelle, and then took a large mouthful, making sure to wipe his moustache dry with his sleeve before returning to the matter at hand.

“So what seems to be the problem? I assume there is a problem? I can’t imagine you sought me out to have old wounds reopened. You never struck me as a masochist.”

“It’s Antwan.”

Ah, Antwan Dixon. Six feet four, one hundred and eighty six pounds, and the most polished shooting stroke of any shooting guard in the United States of America. Deacon Harris knew all about him. He was an avid college hoops fan and kept an eye on every and any prospect that might be South Carolina-bound. The only thing he loved more than sweet things were his Gamecocks. God knows they could use the help.

But it was more than that, Gus had known Antwan’s father Marcus Dixon some. In truth, as small a town that Norman was, it was hard not to know most people. Not to mention that as a deacon he was almost always obliged to know everyone’s business. It was a shame what had happened to Marcus, nasty business that was, and it would be a much greater shame if Antwan had found himself on the wrong side of the tracks too.

“What about him? I thought he was doing well,” Gus said between a mouthful of sweet tea. “Heard he hit the game-winner last night.”

“I’m worried about him,” Michelle muttered. “He’s been spending more and more time with Roland Spencer, taking things from him, he doesn’t know any better, can’t see Roland for what he really is.”

Gus was no stranger to Roland Spencer either. He ran a tire business that had branches across almost the entirety of Pickett County and there was talking of expanding out into Georgia. There was also talk that Roland had got the capital for his business by doing backroom deals with some of Pickett County’s less than favourable characters. If Antwan had fallen in with him, that really was cause for concern.

“How many times has your boy passed through the church doors in his life, Michelle? Why would he listen to me? I’m no one to him.”

“It’s not him I want you to speak to.”

Gus shook his head incredulously, “Roland? Heck, I might as well try to convince the Devil himself to change his ways.”

“Please, Gus.”

The deacon thought of Vontae Carter’s lifeless body lain in that casket earlier with but a few inches of wood between him and his sobbing mother and gritted his teeth. How could he turn Michelle Lewis down after the morning he’d had? Years ago Marcus Dixon had fallen in with the wrong crowd and Gus had been powerless to stop it from happening. He’d be damned if he’d stand by and watch it happen to his son.

“I’ll speak to him, but I’m not promising anything.”

*****

Roland Spencer sat in his office in the Norman branch of Spencer’s Tires and Rims and thumbed his way through some paperwork. It had been a long day but business had been kind, his benefactor would be pleased to know that Roland would be handing over a package much larger than usual this month. From the plush leather seat behind his desk, Roland reached for his phone and glanced at the screen. There was an unopened message from Antwan that he opened, the contents of which brought a broad smile to his face. It was Antwan and his friend Jayson in the new Dodge Charger that Roland had given Antwan as a reward for that game-winning shot. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things, he’d made far more betting against the spread than the Dodge had cost him.

From the door to Roland’s office came a knock and he looked up to see a familiar if unexpected face looking back at him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Deacon? It’s been a while.”

Gus Harris was a tall man, dark-skinned, with short black hair and a well kept goatee peppered with grey hairs. There was a regality to him and his movements that Roland considered to be irritating and enviable at the same time. They had come up in Norman together in a much different time, long before Gus had decided he was better than everyone else and threw his lot in with God, but even before that they had never been anything remotely close to friends.

Gus smiled politely in his direction, “It has indeed, Roland, I hope you don’t mind my showing up uninvited. I know you’re a very busy man.”

“I’m sure I can spare the time to speak to an old friend,” Roland responded, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

“It’s about Antwan Dixon.”

In an instance Roland’s sickly sweet smile disappeared, “Ah, Michelle sent you.”

“She did,” Gus said with a nod. “She’s a little concerned.”

Of course she was concerned now, Roland thought. Where was the concern two years ago when he was driving Antwan across Pickett County looking for her? They had found her at a trailer park in Jardin shacked up with some redneck that had providing her with meth in exchange for God knows what.

Roland remembered the way Antwan had cried after they had taken her home and put her to bed, the way he’d promised himself that once he’d made it in the NBA he would take his mother out of Pickett and make sure they never had to live like that. It had broken his heart.

“I can assure you she has no reason to be concerned. All I’ve ever done is look out for that boy of hers.”

Before he’d even finished his sentence he could see that wouldn’t be enough for Gus. That was the problem with church folk, they were living in the past, they thought that prayer alone could lift you up out of poverty and make a place like Norman worth living in. It was nonsense, it always had been, Roland had known that from the very beginning. You wanted to change something? You wanted to better yourself? You had to be willing to plunge your hands in the filth and get dirty.

People like Gus Harris never had the stones for it.

“Still, she is the boy’s mother and I think even you would admit that some of her concerns are valid. We both know that Antwan is destined for big things and wherever he goes attention will follow him. The money? The jewelry? That type of thing is going to bring the wrong kind of attention around here. You know that.”

His tone grated on Roland. It was bad enough having that junkie look down on him and treat him like some sort of criminal, but at least she was the boy’s kin. She brought him into the world. Gus? The Dixons weren’t religious people and Roland wasn’t sure if he’d ever even met Antwan. Who was he to tell him what was sensible?

“You know, I can’t believe that woman of all people thinks she can send you here to lecture me. You know what she was like, Augustus, you know what kind of thing she was into. Who was it that sold the boy’s clothes for drugs? Who was it that sold their body to feed their habit whilst their son went to bed hungry? It sure as hell wasn’t me. No, I was the one picking up the pieces.”

Gus shook his head.

“She’s changed, Roland.”

“Don’t give me that,” Roland said, venom dripping from every word. “People like that, addicts, they don’t change.”

It would have been a lie to say that had Roland been aware of the deacon’s own past he would have been less likely to say something like that. In truth, he would have been every bit as likely to say it, if not more so were he privy to that information. The second the words left his lips he saw he’d struck a nerve with Gus for whatever reason and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out why.

He searched the deacon’s face for a sign of weakness, a pang of pain or regret, but instead all he found was calm. The brief look of shock his comment had elicited had disappeared as quickly as it had came, rather than lose his cool Gus simply shrugged his shoulders.

“I did.”

Roland smiled knowingly at Gus, “Yeah, well not everyone has your saintly disposition.”

The deacon leant forward in his seat and placed his hands atop the dark brown desk that Roland was sat behind. The tire salesman eyed him suspiciously as Gus leant towards him, speaking slightly softer than he had previously.

“Look, I can’t tell you not to speak to the boy and I can’t tell you to leave him alone, no one can. Not even Michelle can compel you not to contact him. You’ve done right by the boy, I understand that, but at the very least you need to tone things down a little. If he keeps waving money around the way he is? It’s going to put a target on that boy’s back. There are a lot of desperate folks around here.”

Roland sat impassively and offered little in the way of a response in his facial expressions.

“Are you finished, Deacon?”

Gus nodded and stood up from his seat, “I am.”

“Then I thank you for your visit but I must be getting back to work.”

Roland walked round his desk towards the door to his office and gestured outwards. As Deacon Harris passed him he reached out and placed a hand around his arm and gripped it tightly, pulling him closer to him, he stated as ominously as he could muster. “I shall take your words under advisement.”

He maintained eye contact with Gus for a few seconds before finally releasing his arm. Without a word, the deacon walked towards the parked Prius outside of the building and climbed inside. Once Roland was certain Gus had driven away he returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and let out a frustrated sigh. Who the hell did these people think he was that they could come to his place of work and talk to him like that? He was Roland Spencer, self-made millionaire, and once his investment in Antwan Dixon paid off he’d be the richest man in Pickett County by a country mile. Then no one, not Michelle Lewis, nor Augustus Harris, would tell him what he could and couldn’t do.