High Noon

get you a fork for the potato salad.” Palming the pill bottle, she turned, yanked open the flatware drawer. She let the bottle drop in as she reached down for a fork. “You want some lemonade, Mr. Reuben? Mama made it fresh just—”
    “Get that food out here, girl, and quick.”
    She snatched up the plate. It was easy to let the fear show, to let it mask everything else. Seeing the gun under Carter’s jaw overwhelmed even her rage. Her hands shook so the plate bobbed up and down. When he smiled, she understood their fear was part of what he wanted. Giving it to him cost her nothing.
    “Put that plate by the phone there, and go sit your skinny ass down on the sofa.”
    She did exactly as she was told, but before Phoebe could sit, Reuben lifted his leg to give Carter a solid boot on the ass that sent the boy pitching forward. Essie leaped up, stopping only when Phoebe blocked her way, shot her a fierce look.
    Phoebe walked over to pull Carter up herself. “Hush, Carter! Mr. Reuben doesn’t want to hear all that crying while he’s trying to eat.”
    “Got some sense.” With a nod, Reuben sat, laid the gun across his lap. He picked up the fork with one hand, the phone with the other. “Don’t know where you came by it with that worthless whore who raised you. Where’s that electric, Dave?” he said into the phone, and took a forkful of potato salad.
    While Carter sniffled in their mother’s arms, Phoebe watched Reuben eat. Had she put enough pills in? Enough to make him pass out? The liquor he washed down the food with would help, wouldn’t it?
    Maybe it would kill him. She’d read about things like that, pills and liquor. Maybe the son of a bitch would just die.
    She leaned down, whispered into Carter’s ear. Her brother shook his head, so she pinched him, hard. “You do just what I say, or I’ll slap you stupid.”
    “Shut the hell up over there! Did I tell you to talk?”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Reuben. I was just telling him not to cry. He’s gotta pee, too. Can he just go use the bathroom, Mr. Reuben? I’m sorry, Mr. Reuben, but it’ll be an awful mess if he wets his pants. It’ll only take him a minute.”
    “Christ’s sake! G’wan, then.”
    Phoebe closed her hand over Carter’s, squeezed viciously. “Go on, Carter. Do what you’re told.”
    Knuckling his eyes, Carter pushed off the sofa and dragged his heels into the bathroom.
    “Mr. Reuben?”
    Mama hissed at her to stay quiet, but Phoebe ignored her. Carter could get out. If Reuben didn’t think about him for a few minutes, Carter could get out.
    “Do you think if I asked that man to turn on the electric, he would? It’s so hot. Maybe if I asked him, if I told him we’re all so hot, he’d turn it on?”
    “Hear that, Dave?” Reuben kicked back in his chair and grinned. His glassy eyes drooped. “Got a kid wants to negotiate with you. Sure, what the fuck. Come on over here.”
    When Phoebe stood in front of him, Reuben passed her the phone. And pressed the gun to her belly. “Tell him what I’m doing first.”
    Sweat snaked a slow, fat line down her back. Why didn’t the pills work ? Had Carter wriggled out the window?
    “Mister? He’s got the gun at my stomach, and I’m awful scared. We’re so hot. No, we’re not hurt, but we’re so hot it’s going to make us sick . If we could just have the air-conditioning back on, maybe we could sleep, ’cept we’re so scared I guess we’d need a bunch of sleeping pills or something. Please, mister, would you please turn on the electricity?
    “And, sir?” She gripped the phone tighter when Reuben reached for it. When he shrugged, leaned back, the wave of relief was like giddiness. “Could you please give him the money and the car he wants? He’s been real nice to us since I gave him the potato salad I made myself. He even let me go to the bathroom first. We’re all just so tired we might just pass out any minute, you know?”
    Reuben held out a hand for the phone, then gave her a nasty little poke with the gun to move her back. “Hear that, Dave? This girl here, she wants the electric back on. Wants me to have the money and that Caddy. Hell no, I didn’t let them get anything to eat, and I won’t till that electric’s back on. Fact, I’m gonna go eenie meenie right now and…Where’s that boy? Where is that little shit?”
    “Mr. Reuben, he’s right…” Phoebe shot out her arm as if to point and knocked over the bottle of Wild Turkey. “Oh, I’m sorry!