Butcher

70

Bayou Ridge

The water was not in the house yet. Maybe six to seven inches away from overflowing the top step. He'd come right up the back drain ditch through the middle of his beans and tied the boat to his doorknob, an odd feeling. This morning he looked out, trying to see how much it had pushed in, but he couldn't tell. The sun off the water was blindingly bright.

He looked around, trying to decide if any of his belongings were worth saving. Perfectly decent appliances and furniture would be ruined. He'd think about it. Study on it. Probably have to move the stuff out in the next twenty-four hours if he was going to do it at all. More rain in sight.

If the river pushed on in, at the very least it would fill the house with mud and crap when it finally went down. He'd cleaned mud out of a place once before. You couldn't hardly live in a place after the water got it bad. Be a damn shame. It was a well-made old house. Oh, well, he shrugged. Whatever was meant to be.

The ground would be there when the water went away. He'd still have the farm. That was something.

He was sitting in the living room with a drink, all the windows open, looking out at what was his private lake now, when he saw the tiny speck come through the willows by the Southeast Mark Road Bridge. He watched the speck become a boat with three men wearing hunting clothes, cammo jackets, and caps. He saw a couple of guns, it looked like.

Ray was in the door as they putted up the ditch in a big, ritzy fiberglass job. It was the Jarrico brothers and Doug Seifer.

“Hey."

“Hey,” Meara said.

“You about to drown?” Seifer asked.

“Pretty close. You boys huntin'?"

“Yeah,” one of the brothers said. “This morning."

“I'll be back in a minute,” Doug said, scrambling up on the prow of Meara's boat and from there to the steps. They went inside.

“Welcome home."

“Thanks."

“I got this dude owes me,” Seifer said, cryptically, taking something out of his pocket and handing it to Meara. “Check it out.” It was a photocopy of a legal-looking document, like a property abstract. Meara read the heading. I 48-99 Clearwater County Survey/C1. Trench “N” R-25-26-E.

Ray immediately recognized what it was. Thirty-six squares and rectangles split by a black and white dotted highway line that was the set-back levee road, with a blue element to the south and east, in a familiar configuration. Each one of the rectilinear stairstep plots was some farmer's ground.

“You're there,” Doug pointed, unnecessarily. “You're Number One."

“Yeah?"

“Guy was working for Milas."

“Milas Kehoe?"

“Yeah. That's from an abstract. He had a geological survey run on your property a long time ago. Over at the flat and down in your woods. Came in the back way and took samples. When you was in jail, he brought a crew in on a pontoon boat. Came right up into your back woods and sunk a test drill. I reckon you're sittin’ on some oil."

“Oil,” Meara repeated.

“They had Sandy ridin’ shotgun, too, way I hear it."

“SanDiego?"

“Yeah,” Seifer said. Meara watched his big jaw muscles tighten around a smile. “I knew you'd enjoy that. Anyway, Kehoe figured you'd do some time for Royal. He was fixin’ to buy this. He hired the skinheads and Sandy to come in on the thing against you. Hear tell, he's rightly ripped.” They both laughed.

“Way she goes,” Meara said.

“You could probably sue that shoat and who knows what? Win a box full of money or somethin'."

“I think I've had my share of tryin’ to get even, Doug, ya know?"

“I hear you there. Anyway, thought you'd want to know. Better sink a well down in them woods, man."

“Thanks."

“Oh, here.” He handed Meara ten folded twenty-dollar bills. “These won't bounce. Sorry it took so long."

“Hey, no big deal."

“If you want to do anything about our friend,” Seifer drooped his eyelids and raised his shoulders, “I'm willing to throw in with you."

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Revenge just doesn't cut it. I finally learned that the hard way, Doug."

“Okay.” Seifer started for the door.

“But thanks, pard. You've been a good friend,” Meara said. Seifer got back in the boat and they pushed off toward the drainage ditch, the motor loud over the expanse of water.

He didn't have Sharon but she'd managed to give him some values anyway. He'd learned that vengeance is empty. He'd finally learned something.

She'd taught him a lot. Gave him a lot to ponder, in the short time they'd had together. He'd have a long while to sort it all out, to think about what she meant to him, and he knew a part of her was going to stay with him.

Ray stood in the open doorway watching the boat disappear into the distance. The drizzle opened up again, and behind the dark clouds the afternoon sun played tricks with the sky, splattering vivid reds across the deep blue. Raymond looked up into it, his face streaked with rain.

Life was nothin’ but tricky.