She propped a hand on her hip. Behind her, the room was filled with grunting and gasping and whimpering. “How can I leave him alone when he’s the one who came around here bothering me?” she demanded with self-righteous satisfaction. “Maybe if he had a single friend in the world, he wouldn’t have to beg me for money.”
“He has–” Mercy bit back the retort. It was childish, and he’d be damned if he got sucked into talking schoolgirl circles with her. “Like I said. Here’s your money.”
But she didn’t take it. Her eyes skipped from the wad of cash up to his face and back again. Her smile was slow and catlike. “Where’d you get this?”
“None of your business.”
“Are you flush these days?” Her smile widened. “That biker club paying you well?” Her eyes glued to his face, she shoved the door wide and let it fall back on its hinges, giving him an unimpeded view of the room. “If you’re looking to spend it on something, I’m sure I know someone who could take you on.”
The room was empty save a king-sized bed and a scattering of wooden chairs against the walls. A girl lay spread-eagle on the bed, tied hand and foot to the posts with rope, naked. There was a man between her legs, hips thrusting violently as he fucked her, his body jackknifing. A second man knelt on the bed beside the girl, suckling her breasts, a hand clamped tight over her mouth. A third man watched from one of the chairs, his jeans unfastened.
Dee’s smile was evil. “Simone here is a real crowd pleaser. She can please you too, for the right price.”
Mercy had never wanted to hit a woman in his life, but in that moment, he wanted to punch his own mother full in the face.
He shoved the money toward her. “Take it,” he said through his teeth.
Dee took a step back. “No.”
“Why the hell not?”
Over on the bed, the second man had noticed the presence of a newcomer, and lifted his head from the girl’s breasts. “Dee, I thought you said it’d just be us three.”
She lifted a hand for his silence. To Mercy, she said, “Remy borrowed money from me; it’s Remy who’s gonna pay me back.”
“Why does it matter so long as you get what’s yours?” Mercy threw the bills down at her feet. “Take that. You take it, and you leave Dad alone, or I swear to God–”
“What’ll you do?” she taunted. “What would Remy’s son ever do besides go hide in the swamp and play with lizards?”
The man who’d been going at the girl finished with a grunt and then withdrew, climbing down off the bed, coming to stand beside Dee, not at all self-conscious. He reached into her robe pocket and withdrew a pack of smokes and a lighter. “Is there a problem?” he asked, giving Mercy a dark look.
It was Oliver Landau, Mercy recognized, his mother’s current boyfriend. A white trash thug who’d come into some money thanks to a workman’s comp claim. Average height, wiry, his arms a touch too long, his chest marked up with sloppily-done tribal tattoos that had no meaning, he had a low-browed face that was made for mug shots, and couldn’t hope to match wits with a cocker spaniel.
Mercy smiled down at him. “Yeah. Your girlfriend’s stupid. That’s the problem.” Over the man’s head, Mercy saw the second man move to take Oliver’s place at the girl’s sex. She arched and mewled when he entered her.
Oliver made an aggressive gesture that lifted his shoulders and puffed out his chest.
Dee patted his arm and said, “I tried to raise him better, but there’s just no hope. The boy’s got no manners. He was just leaving, though, weren’t you, Felix?”
Oliver scuffed his bare foot across the bills on the floor. “What’s this?”
“A debt settled,” Mercy said. “If you’re smart, you’ll tell her to accept it and move on. You’ve been paid back,” he said to Dee. “Do you hear me?You’ve been paid.”
She made an airy, careless gesture with one hand and turned her back to him, going to the man in the chair. “It wasn’t your debt to settle,” she called, flipping back her robe and straddling the man’s lap, hiking her leather skirt up around her hips in the process. Her hand went between her legs, under the skirt. She made a little face that indicated she’d aligned the two of them and now the man was inside her. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and began to roll her hips, while over her shoulder, the man watched the spectacle that unfolded on the bed. “Now run along,” Dee said, voice a little breathless now that she was busy. “I need to take care of my guests.”
Oliver gave him a stupid, hateful look. “Get lost, shithead.”
Mercy stared him down, until Oliver flinched and glanced away; only then did he turn his back on the hideous moment in the bedroom. As he walked for the door, he heard the girl, Simone, screaming.
There was some drama back at the clubhouse when he returned. The newest prospect had been caught with the sergeant’s old lady, and Mercy’s size had been needed to prevent a bloodbath right there in the parking lot. By the time the prospect had been voted out, stripped of his cut, and put on the bus headed back to Shreveport where he belonged, it was after five. He called to tell Remy he’d be running late for dinner, but got no answer. He could picture his father and grandmother out on the porch, watching the fish jump for the dragonflies, neither of them able to hear the phone ringing beside the fridge inside.
As he walked through the market, picking out pasta, a head of garlic, some tomatoes, the last of his anger began to fade. The scene at the clubhouse had helped chase away the immediate aftereffects of seeing his mother, and the idea of a family dinner was soothing away the rest.
The ride home always filled him with both nostalgia and regret. He knew the bend of each oak branch, the smell of each puddle, the call of each bird. It was easy to forget how savage this place was; sheltered by buildings and pavement, New Orleans seemed the height of civilization, a vital beating heart of the world of humans and twentieth-century problems. But just a few short miles sent him plunging back into the wilderness. Out here, the gator was king, everything that crawled and swam and flew a part of his court. The men who lived in the swamp were like deer, hushed, respectful, stepping carefully.
Each time he made this trip, Mercy was filled up with boyhood memories, barefoot and tan in the bateau while they hunted, or sprawled across the porch with a book, learning about nations thousands of miles away that he’d never see with his own eyes.
And then the guilt would get him, a tight knot in his gut, because he’d abandoned the people who’d raised him.
