Page 39 of Small Town Beast 2: Saverin's Duet

“She did it to another kid,” Saverin told his cousin, revealing what he’d learned from the Detective’s file. He said it loud enough that Tanya’s mother heard, and her wide-eyed silence was all but a confession.

“And the cops?” Crash asked Saverin after a pause.

“East Rowanville PD took the case. That lard-ass detective basically told me they didn’t give a shit ‘cause it was a Black kid.”

Crash grunted, “The detective— short, fat guy? Skipper was the name?”

“That’s the man. Where’d I put those damned cigarettes?”

“Skipper’s daddy was a Grand Dragon in the Klan,” said Crash dryly. “So I ain’t surprised.”

Figures.Saverin found the Camels. His temper was walking a razor edge and it was hard to calm down. He said, “I need to find this kid before they take him out of state, Walker. Get that woman to talk. She’s my girl’s Ma for all she’s scum.”

“Well, it seems your witness is noncompliant.”

Saverin fumbled with his lighter. “Weren’t you a marine? Just pretend she’s in the Taliban or some shit.”

“I don’t see you for two years and then you pop up asking me to terrorize someone on social security.”

“Forgive me,” Saverin offered.

“Alright, you ugly son of a bitch.” Crash then rounded on Tanya’s mother. “How much did they pay you for the kid?” he asked in a far milder tone.

“I– it wasn’t so much,” the old woman wilted. “Just a couple thousand. C-colton got the rest…”

“Who is Colton?” Crash asked Saverin from the corner of his mouth.

“Tanya’s ex,” replied Saverin. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. “I knew the bastard was involved somehow. He went for the kid’s birth certificate last night.”

Mother Weaver’s eyes bugged out. She breathed, “Did he get it? Did Colton get the birth certificate?”

“No,” said Saverin. “I shot him dead before he could rape and kill your daughter.”

“I– I—” the woman sputtered. “Dead? Are you sure?”

“Look, Ma’am,” said Crash, side-eyeing a fuming Saverin. “Er— my cousin here, he’s…he’s real emotional right now, see? I know he ain’t much to look at, and he’s got a few screws loose,but he’s alright, really. We just want a little information on the kid.”

Saverin huffed on the cigarette, trying to convince himself the sinking feeling in his gut was just ungrounded paranoia. He had allowed himself to hope that Amari was still with his grandmother. But the kid could be anywhere now. Hope was for fools. He rubbed the scarred flesh under his eye.

Crash suddenly perked up. “Saverin, ain’t that your phone?”

It was. Saverin ducked around the car and fished the buzzing device out of his pocket. In his consternation he hadn’t even felt it vibrate. And speak of the devil– it was the East Rowanville detective, Skipper, calling. As he swiped his thumb across the screen he noticed he had a missed call from his cousin Sarah Jane, and his cousin Roman.

Can’t be nothing good from that end, he thought, unease deepening.

He raised the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

Detective Skipper’s nasal voice drawled out, “Saverin Bailey.”

“Top of the morning to you, detective.”

“Spare me, Bailey. You’re damned lucky I’m even calling at all.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I got news for you. But I ain’t happy with the way our last conversation went. Not happy at all. So this can be either good news or bad news depending how you want to handle this.”

“I understand,” said Saverin, resisting the urge to tell the sloppy bastard to get to the point. The man was a precious son of a bitch and Saverin had pissed him off deeply by stealing an artefact from his Confederate shrine: a bible belonging to the former Rebel president, Jefferson Davis.

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