The Last Harvest(65)
Some guys are setting up a roadside barbeque in the parking lot. They give me a head nod, but other than that, it’s deserted. I’m getting my money together, pulling some change from the ashtray, when I see Lee Wiggins come out with a plastic bag. He’s got his hood up, but I’d know that slouch anywhere.
“Wiggins,” I holler as I get out of my truck.
He doesn’t even turn around, just takes off running at the sound of my voice.
I track him down a narrow path that runs alongside the junkyard. A Rottweiler jumps at the fence, making it bend and spring back, gnashing teeth and pure muscle slamming against the chain link. It scares the shit out of me, but it makes me run that much harder.
I pass the fence and break out of the overgrowth to find Lee standing in front of a burnt-out trailer. I’ve heard about it, but it’s a whole other thing seeing it in person—the warped metal, the charred plastic, right next to his melted-off face. I can’t even imagine the force, the sheer amount of heat it took to do this much damage. Enough to kill his two brothers. Enough to maim him for life.
“Come to see Dad’s handiwork?” He spreads his hands wide, like he’s showing me Disneyland.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Think about it, Clay.” He takes down his hood, stretching out his neck to show me the full display of his burns. “The explosives. I know you found them in the shed, buried them on the back parcel, but you didn’t tell anyone, did you? Sheriff was right there, and you hid it from him. Pretty sure they call that tampering with evidence.”
I clench my hands into fists. “How do you know about that?”
“I know all kinds of things.” He grins, his mangled flesh stretching tight over crooked teeth. “I know you’ve been sniffing around Oakmoor, too,” Lee says. “Around me and Miss Granger.”
“I’m sick of playing games with you,” I say, as I get right up in his face. “Whatever it is that you think you know? You best spit it out now, while you still have teeth.” I shove him and he drops the plastic bag. A package of condoms and some twine sprawls out in the dirt.
I glance down at the condoms. Was it him? Was he the one who was over at Miss Granger’s house that night? I kick the box. “Look, I don’t give a shit what you do with Miss Granger.”
“Is that what you think this is?” He laughs as he picks it up. “You of all people should understand why I need these. I can’t be spilling my seed everywhere, now can I? Blessed is the seed.”
“I don’t know what your deal is, but I need you to stay away from my family, especially Jess. Do you understand?”
“You still haven’t figured it out.” He grins. “You still don’t know who I am.”
“Sure I do. You’re just some low-life meth dealer. I’ve seen the bank ledger. Your name’s all over it. I get it. Did you feel good taking that money? Getting a decent family man hooked on meth?”
“Meth?” He laughs. “I guess that’s an easier pill to swallow.”
“Easier than what?”
“The truth!” He opens his eyes as wide as his scarred skin will allow. “You’ve always wanted to bury your head in the sand. Never understood that about you. Had so much potential. The golden boy with the golden calf.”
“What do you know about the calf?” I advance on him. “Was it you?”
“See, there you go again, getting ahead of yourself. Focusing on the wrong things.”
“Then tell me.” I get right in his face. “What should I be focusing on?”
“Your precious daddy wasn’t buying meth.” Lee stands his ground. “He was paying me off.”
“Oh yeah?” I laugh. “For what?”
“For spreading his seed where it didn’t belong.”
A chill runs down my spine. I think about Neely telling me how my dad had an eye for the ladies. My mom saying he brought shame on the family. Miss Granger asking for Lee’s birth certificate.
It feels like the ground’s breaking away right under my feet and there’s nothing to hang on to.
“Did you know we were born on the same day?” Lee licks his scarred lips. “Just a few minutes apart. I wasn’t due for a couple of months, but I still got here first. See, I’ll always be one step ahead of you, brother.”
His initials written in the margin of our family tree … the numbers, 11:26, weren’t from the Bible, it was the time of his birth. If he was born first, does that make him the sixth?
“How long did my dad know about you?” I ask as I stagger back, trying to keep my footing.
“He knew from day one, but Ma didn’t tell me ’til she was on her deathbed last year. I went to him, told him I just wanted to spend time with him, get to know him, but he was too good for the likes of me. Just threw some money at me, and so I took it, and I kept taking it. And when I threatened to go public, he started confiding in me. Telling me things about this town and the Devil. He took a real shine to me. I thought we were finally getting somewhere, forgin’ a real relationship, and then he came over that night, telling me how he’s sinned, and how it was time to make things right. He gave me a present. Said it was a family heirloom, something a long time coming, generations in the making. Told me I was the chosen one. Special.”