Page 86 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

A fly landed on the tip of Felix’s nose, and he swatted it away.

Bob’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Felix wanted to swat it away, too, but found he lacked the strength, suddenly.

“Why don’t you get in the boat with me, son? We’ll go get you a shower and something hot to eat.”

Felix got in the boat, and they rode back to the marina, and then climbed into Bob’s truck. He got a shower, and a hot meal. More days passed. Bob sat him down, and Felix told him exactly what had happened with Landau, in perfect detail, each moment of that afternoon indelibly etched into his mind.

Merci.

Bob must have told the others, because they started calling him Mercy after that. It was fitting, he supposed. He didn’t feel much like Felix anymore.

The last time he saw Hank the prospect was the day the police came sniffing around asking him about Landau.

Bob called him to the office, and when he reached the threshold, he caught sight of starched khaki uniform shirts and gun belts. He froze. On instinct more than anything; the expected fear didn’t hit. Not so much as a whiff of nerves. He’d killed Landau, had heard him beg for mercy and delivered it to him only once he was done with him. Had killed his buddies, and fed them to Big Son without a backward thought. A couple of beer-bellied sheriff’s deputies couldn’t spook him.

“Felix,” Bob said, with a flat, warning look, “these gentlemen would like a word.” He got up from the desk and offered his chair to Mercy. Left the room and shut them in together.

“Let me start by saying,” the older of the two deputies said, “that we’re terribly sorry for your loss. We hear you just lost your father and your grandmother.”

“Yeah.” The sound that fell out of his mouth couldn’t be his own voice, but he couldn’t seem to engage the authentic article.

“Remy was well-liked around town, always donated to the department charity. We’d like to send flowers to the funerals. A few of the boys even want to attend the service.”

“There’s no service,” he said, in that same awful, wooden tone.

The second deputy, moon-faced and friendly-looking, lifted his brows. “No? Private burial?”

“Yeah.”

“We could still send flowers,” the first said.

Mercy didn’t grace that with a response, and the deputy sighed. “The thing is, well, the reason we know about your dad…”

Mercy knew what was coming.

“…is because we heard it from your mama. In fact,shecalledus.”

“Did she.”

“If Remy’s dead, why didn’t anyone call it in?” the second deputy asked, gently.

Mercy shrugged, and leaned back in the chair. It was still warm from Bob’s body heat, and smelled heavily of cigarette smoke. “It was too late. Nothing to be done.”

The younger deputy shifted forward, looking alarmed. “But – you should still call an ambulance. There’s protocol, there’s – they were dead, man, and–”

The older one shushed him with a gesture and said, “Felix. What happened to your father and grandmother?” His brows steepled sharply, a groove deep as a knife wound pressed between them. “Where did you put them?”

“They’re in the ground, just like she intended.”

“Where?”

Mercy didn’t answer.

The older deputy sighed, while the younger’s brows shot up. “Your mother seems to think that you had something to do with her boyfriend going missing.”

“My mother’s a whore.”

The younger one gasped.

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