Sycamore Row

go to the store, but Simeon needed some quiet time. He managed to sneak out the back door, hop in his truck, and leave without being seen. He was headed to Clanton, fifteen minutes away, and enjoying the solitude. He realized he missed the open road, the days away from home, the late-night bars and lounges and women. He would leave Lettie eventually, and move far away, but it damned sure wouldn’t happen now. No sir. For the foreseeable future, Simeon Lang planned to be the model husband.
    Or so he told himself. He often did not know why he did the things he did. An evil voice came from nowhere, and Simeon listened to it. Tank’s Tonk was a few miles north of Clanton, at the end of a dirt road that was used only by those looking for trouble. Tank had no liquor license, no permit, and no Chamber of Commerce sticker in the front window. Drinking, gambling, and whoring were illegal in other parts of the county. The coldest beer in the area was kept in Tank’s coolers, and Simeon suddenly had a craving as he puttered innocently down the road with his wife’s grocery list in one pocket and their lawyer’s borrowed cash in another. Ice-cold beer and Saturday morning dice and cards. What could be better?
    Last night’s smoke and debris were being cleared as a one-armed boy they called Loot mopped around the tables. Broken glass littered the dance floor, evidence of the inevitable fight. “Anybody get shot?” Simeon asked as he popped the top of a sixteen-ounce can. He was alone at the bar.
    “Not yet. Got two in the hospital with cracked skulls,” replied Ontario, the one-legged bartender who’d been to prison for killing his first two wives. He was now single. Tank had a soft spot for amputees and most of his employees were missing a limb or two. Baxter, the bouncer, was minus an ear.
    “Sorry I missed it,” Simeon said, gulping.
    “I hear it was a right good scrape.”
    “Looks like it. Benjy in?”
    “I think so.” Benjy dealt blackjack in a locked, windowless room behind the bar. Next to it, in a similar room, they were shooting dice at the moment and anxious voices could be heard. A comely white woman, with all limbs and other critical body parts intact and exposed, walked in and said to Ontario, “I’m here.”
    “I thought you slept all day,” he replied.
    “Expecting some customers.” She kept walking, and when she passed behind Simeon she gently raked her long, fake, pink fingernails across his shoulder. “Ready for business,” she cooed into his ear, but he pretended not to hear. Her name was Bonnie, and for years she’d worked the back room where many of the young black men of Ford County first crossed the line. Simeon had been there several times, but not today. When she was out of sight, he drifted to the rear and found the blackjack dealer.
    Benjy closed the door and asked, “How deep, man?”
    “A thousand,” Simeon said, cocky with the cash, a big player. He quickly spread the ten bills across the felt surface of the blackjack table. Benjy’s eyes widened. “Good God, man, you clear this with Tank?”
    “No. Don’t tell me you ain’t seen a thousand bucks before.”
    “A minute.” He took a key out of his pocket and opened the cash box under the table. He counted, pondered, worried, then said, “I guess I can do it. As I recall, you ain’t much of a threat anyway.”
    “Just shut up and deal.”
    Benjy exchanged the cash for ten black chips. The door opened and Ontario hopped in with a fresh beer. “You got any peanuts?” Simeon asked. “Bitch didn’t fix breakfast.”
    “I’ll find somethin’,” he mumbled as he left.
    Benjy, shuffling, said, “I wouldn’t be callin’ that woman no names, from what I hear.”
    “You believe everything you hear?”
    They split the first six hands, then Bonnie arrived with a platter of mixed nuts and another cold beer in a frosted mug. She had changed costumes and was wearing skimpy, see-through lingerie with black stockings and kinky platform high heels that would make a tart blush. Simeon took a long look. Benjy mumbled, “Oh boy.” Bonnie inquired, “Anything else you want?”
    “Not right now,” Simeon said.
    An hour and three beers later, Simeon looked at his watch, knewhe should leave, but couldn’t force himself. His home was packed with freeloading kinfolk. Lettie was impossible. And he hated Rontell on a good day. All those damn kids running around.
    Bonnie was back with another beer, one she delivered topless.