Vengeance. Mystery Writers of America Presents B00A25NLU4

facilitator, shutting down her computer. “We’ll get you all going on Facebook.”
    Outside, the sun and heat was a hammer blow.
    “Where you going now?” asked Stokey. He’d taken a Marlboro box out of his shirt pocket and was gravely considering the remaining cigarettes. Seven bucks a pack. Joe knew he was figuring how long he could stretch them out.
    “Down the river, by the bluff. Thought I might shoot a deer.”
    “They ain’t in season.”
    “There’s no season on being hungry.”
    Stokey nodded. “Put some venison up for the winter.”
    “That’s the idea.”
    They separated, going to their trucks, and Stokey drove off first. Joe sat for a few minutes, despite the heat, gazing at nothing in particular.

    T HE DROUGHT FINALLY broke, like it always did, and the weather turned beautiful again. Mid-September, the high school’s first home game, and some of the nights were already cool.
    On one of those nights, Joe ran into Stokey in the gravel parking lot out behind Community Baptist. Quarter to nine, mostly dark, right before the church food pantry closed up. Joe was walking out, carrying his paper sack of canned beans and margarine and Vienna wieners. Stokey hesitated, then started to turn away.
    “It’s all right,” said Joe.
    “I was just — you know.”
    “I’ve been coming every week. No shame in it.”
    “Yeah.” But there was, of course. Stokey wasn’t the only one to show up after dusk, at closing, hoping to avoid running into anyone he knew. Joe had nodded to two women inside, and none of them had spoken.
    “Annie said we had to come.” Stokey sighed. “I didn’t want to. Didn’t let her last week. But she insisted. So I said I’d do it.”
    “She trust you?” Joe tried to lighten it up, but Stokey just shook his head.
    “It ain’t right, taking handouts. It’s not her job to be begging food.”
    “It’s not begging.”
    “Same as.”
    They stood for a few minutes while Stokey finished a cigarette. Traffic noise drifted over from Route 87, across the soybean fields. The moon had risen, almost light enough to read by. Joe pulled a folded envelope from his shirt pocket. “Got this today,” he said, running his finger along the torn edge. “From the bank.”
    “Uh-oh.”
    “Yeah.” He looked at Stokey. “Foreclosure. I must have called six times since August, trying to talk them into a workout, but no go. They’re taking the house.”
    “When?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “Harrell and his wife, they’re still in their place. Haven’t paid a dime since March. Sheriff’s even been out, and Harrell just says he’s working on it, shows another letter, and they let it go.”
    “Working on what?” Joe didn’t know Harrell well, but once he’d seen him walking through the neighborhood at dawn, checking trash bags. “Buying Hot Lotto tickets?”
    “It’s a game. The bank, they don’t really want to foreclose, because then they’re stuck with it. People ain’t exactly lining up to buy houses around here, you notice that? You could string them out for months, just like Harrell.”
    Joe
had
thought about it, but he shook his head. “That wouldn’t be right.”
    Stokey grimaced. “What’s not right is the whole fucking system. Everything’s rigged for the fat boys.”
    The screen door at the back of the church banged, and a shadowed figure came out, carrying two sacks. A family allotment. Joe thought he recognized the woman, but she went by without greeting them, got in her car, and drove away.
    “I’m leaving,” Joe said.
    “What?” Stokey looked up.
    “Marjo’s gone, my job is gone, the house is going. I got nothing to do here.”
    “Yeah, but —” Stokey didn’t seem to know what to say. “Where?”
    “Connecticut.”
    “
Connecticut?
What the hell for?”
    “I’m going to …” Joe stopped. When he said it out loud, it sounded stupid.
    “What?”
    “Valiant lives there. His office is in New York City, but he lives in some little town in Connecticut. I want to talk to him.”
    “
Talk
to him?”
    “Ask him why he did it. Ask him to make things right.”
    Stokey made a choking noise. He put his hands up, then dropped them. “Why the
fuck
would Valiant talk to you? Why would he even see you?”
    “I’ll make an appointment.” Joe straightened up. “Look, he’s another human being, right? We’re all walking the earth. Maybe he just needs to see things clear.”
    “That’s just plain — Valiant’s
not
walking the earth, not