Darla Mason draped herself over the thick, almost hairless legs of her lover and turned the television to the local evening news. The anchorwoman had blonde hair curled and teased out to create a helmet of hairspray and mousse. Instead of looking well kempt and sophisticated, as intended, she looked used and discarded, a cheap drugstore kind of class. The television was muted because the sound distracted young Bradley, making his throes of passion less passionate and thus his visit a waste of time. The anchor woman's red lips moved slowly, never breaking her pseudo-smile, as she read from the teleprompter. A police sketch of two men appeared in the upper corner of the screen which made Darla scramble to turn up the volume.
“The woman says the men grabbed her, pulled her into the truck, and drove for some time before raping her and leaving her in a ditch near Wilson Rock Road,” the red lips said.
Darla recognized the men. The drawings weren’t very good, but she knew them. One of the men was her husband.
Eight years ago Darla had met Lloyd Mason in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. She had gone home with him after the meeting and had never left. Two weeks later, they were married and moved in with Lloyd’s momma who’d died soon after. His brothers, Andy and L.B., had houses on either side of their momma’s former homestead. Andy, Lloyd’s oldest brother, lived in a red brick house left of theirs with his wife, Kim. They had a couple of kids and Andy stayed away from serious trouble. He had a taste for booze though, and when he went on a bender Kim became everything he despised and would try to hide the embarrassing bruises for the next week or so. But Andy kept a job and, as far as Darla was concerned, that counted for something.
To say L.B., Lloyd’s younger brother, lived in a house on the right of Darla and Lloyd would be an exaggeration. L.B., whose real name was Elroy, but who was called Lil Bit so long that when he grew up people shortened it to L.B, lived in a two room building made from scraps of wood, down the hill on the right of Lloyd and Darla. Behind his small shack he kept a greenhouse where he grew his weed. At first, Darla couldn’t believe he would keep a greenhouse full of marijuana so close to his momma, who was a God fearin’ woman. But he did and he sold to the kids at school, the fellas on the police department, and a few other good ol’ boys around Roland, Muldrow, and few other small Oklahoma towns.
The police, even the ones who weren’t regular customers, knew about the Mason boys’ operation, but never bothered them. Word was the cops were afraid. They were afraid to venture up the mountain, they were afraid of driving the desolate dirt roads, and most of all, they were afraid of Lloyd and L.B. Mason. There were rumors that more than a few men who crossed the Masons still had scars to show for it and a couple disappeared right off the face of the earth. Because the law wouldn’t come onto the mountain, it didn’ t apply there, and Lloyd and L.B. took full advantage.
Darla had to shake Bradley’s hand off her arm so she could get out of bed. He looked at her with fresh-out-of-high-school eyes and said, “Come back to bed, Darla. I still got some lovin’ in me yet.”
“You better git on out of here, Bradley. Your momma goin be lookin’ for you soon and Lloyd is liable to be back any minute.”
“My momma is always lookin’ for me,” the boy said, “and Lloyd don’t scare me none.”
“Then you are stupider than I thought. Go home,” she said, lighting a cigarette. Darla thought very young men made the best lovers. It was easy work enticing an erection, they only needed twenty minutes before they were ready to go again, and they didn’t know enough to be scared of her husband. But she knew. She knew what would happen if Lloyd came home to find her and young Bradley or Tyler or, God forbid, the dark skinned John in her bed. They would find out what there was to be afraid of. Lloyd would show them what Darla already knew.
Bradley walked over to her and pulled her close. “I don’t want to leave, Darla.” He guided her hand over his body and she was tempted to let him stay but thought better of it.
“Get dressed,” she said, walking to the bathroom, “and go home.” She slammed the bathroom door and locked it. After trying the doorknob a few times, Bradley gave up and began putting his clothes on.
“I love you, Darla Mason,” he said through the door, “and I know you love me.”
Darla sighed. She did not love Bradley. She loved his youth. She loved his body and the way it made her feel. She even loved the scar he got climbing his momma’s fence when he was eleven, but she did not love him. She listened silently as he left her house and made his way through the woods to where his truck was hidden.
As she sat with her back against the bathroom door, Lloyd came home.
“Darla. Darla, where you at?”
In a panic, Darla left the bathroom and hurried to make the bed. “I’m ‘ bout to get in the shower,” she answered, relieved she ran Bradley off when she did.
“Shit, Darla, you just standing around naked and I could have been anybody come in this house. What are you trying to do?”
“I ain’t trying to do nothing but take a shower, Lloyd. I can’t do that with my clothes on.” Trying to control the trembling in her hands, she smiled coyly at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You could get in that shower with me.”
He pushed her arms off his neck so hard she fell and hit her head on the corner of the dresser. “Get off me.”
Darla slid her fingers through her dark hair to the back of her head and felt the slippery warmness of blood. Stumbling a little, she stood up and tears filled her eyes.
“Don’t be walking around naked when I ain’t home.” His eyes were unfeeling and cruel.
She had heard of the things Lloyd got up to, but Darla could not believe he would rape some young girl. Oh, she knew he was capable, Lloyd was capable of many things both kind and cruel. Many times he had come home drunk and Darla had been dragged from sleep by the ankle. She had clawed at the floor crying for help. She had struggled under his weight and felt the thrust of his anger. And L.B. was every bit as mean as Lloyd, maybe meaner. He always enjoyed the pain and suffering of others, especially if he caused it.
After dressing and patching her wounded head as best she could, Darla sat in the swing hung on the porch, pushing herself back and forth with her bare feet. She heard the phone ringing inside the house and she slowly went to answer it.
“Hello,” she said.
“Darla?” It was her mother. And she was crying.
“Momma? What’s wrong?” Darla asked.
“Oh, Darla, it’s awful,” her mother said through her sobs.
“What’s awful? Momma, you’re gonna have to calm down. You’re scaring me.”
“It’s Peggy.”
Peggy was Darla’s niece. It had been years since Darla had seen her, because Peggy’s momma, Darla’s sister, had quit speaking to Darla nearly seven years ago because she didn’t like the choices Darla made. She said she wouldn’t stand by and watch Darla ruin her life with booze and men. Peggy was twelve years old the last time Darla laid eyes on her.
“What about Peggy?” she asked.
“She tried to commit suicide, Darla. That girl who’s been on the news for getting raped by them boys -- that was Peggy. She just couldn’t handle what happened and took a bunch of pills.”
If there was more to the story, Darla didn’t hear it. She put the phone receiver down and went back to the porch swing. There was a cooler sitting on the porch and she was happy to find it had a few beers in it. She cracked one open, drank it quickly, then reached for another.
It was dark and she could see through the windows at L.B.’s house and saw Lloyd sitting in the window drinking beer and laughing. They had spoiled the innocence of her niece who had probably not yet screwed her life up with a string of bad men and booze and they were having a good ol’ time. Peggy tried to kill herself and they were laughing. Darla’s anger pulsed in her head and shook her body.
She watched the smoke from her cigarette swirl in the darkness for a moment. The sadness she kept pushed down and silent began to creep up. In her life, anger was better than sorrow, and revenge better than forgiveness. Closing her eyes to force away the tears, Darla allowed the anger to force the sadness away and made a decision.
Lloyd was of the kind who didn’t like work at all and especially avoided hard work. He worked when he had to, repairing cars, moving furniture, or cutting wood for friends or neighbors willing to pay and occasionally he would get a real job; the kind where he got an hourly wage and a check he had to cash at the bank. But when he’d made enough money to pay the bills or buy what it was he wanted bad enough to work for, he would take the money he earned, buy some beer, and disappear for a few days. When he returned, he would knock Darla around a bit, forget about the job, and go back to loafing with L.B. or Bubby, his buddy from high school who lived down the road, until he decided he needed a job.
Their marriage consisted of a pattern of violence and poverty with brief moments of happiness. Those moments were what Darla held on to. That and the embarrassment she felt at the life she lived. Leaving him would mean her mother was right, something she would never admit. It was easier to fake a smile and laugh when people criticized your choices if you never let on how right they were.
Several days after the phone call from her mother, Darla put on short jean shorts and headed to Bubby’s house. Lloyd was gone again, possibly hiding from the police, and Darla needed to find him. She knew the best way was to let his friends know she was looking for him and the best way to get them to pay attention to her was to show them some skin.
Like most of the houses on the mountain, Bubby’s appeared to be built from discarded lumber and scotch tape. When they were first married, Lloyd would bring her with him to see his friends. He liked to show off her tight ass and loose morals. Now she was no longer included. Lloyd much preferred leaving her home alone while he ran all over the mountain doing God knows what.
“Hey, Bubby,” Darla said, walking up his gravel driveway.
He was leaning into the open hood of an old white El Camino. When he heard her voice, he put down his tools and began wiping his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “Well hey yourself, Darla. I ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays,” he said.
Darla smiled sweetly. “Longer. You still workin’ on that damn car? You gonna be too old to drive by the time you git it goin’.”
Darla could feel his eyes on her and added a little extra swing to her hips. Bubby stared awkwardly at her and shifted from one foot to the other. “You need something?” he asked.
“I need my man. You seen him?” Darla knew he would not tell her where he was, not unless he wanted an ass whoopin’ from Lloyd, but he would get word to him that she was looking for him.
“Oh, you know how ol’ Lloyd is.”
“Yes,” Darla said, inching closer to the big man, “I do know how he is.”
“If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re lookin’ fer him.”
“If you see him. I’m sure he will be home soon so don’t go out of your way,” she said, playing it off as if she didn’t care if he was found or not.
The next day, while Darla sat in the front porch swing painting her toenails hot pink, Lloyd’s truck sped up the hill in a cloud of dust.
She squinted into the sun as Lloyd got out of his truck. He walked toward her with a lop-sided swagger. His Wranglers and t-shirt were covered with oil and dirt. It was a familiar sight that Darla had once found sexy and masculine. Now it was just grime and a walk affected by liquor.
“Saw Bubby today,” he said, pushing the squeaky gate open.
Darla screwed the cap onto her nail polish and stood up. She looked to see if L.B. had decided to come home too. Usually where one went the other followed, but L.B.’s car was nowhere to be found and she knew Lloyd probably didn’t plan on staying long.
“I said I saw Bubby today.”
“Did ya?” She asked.
“Yep. What you doin’ goin’ over there?”
“I was just wondrin’ if he knew where you was.” In an attempt to abate the anger she saw in the set of his jaw, Darla glided over and wrapped her arms around Lloyd’s middle. “I missed you,” she said.
He grunted in response.
“You been gone for days, baby. I wanted you to come home.”
He hugged her, planted a kiss on her forehead, and swiftly swatted her behind. “Well, I’m home,” he said then walked into the house.
“Think we could go down to the rock pit and go fishin’?” she asked him, following close behind.
“Today?” Lloyd asked.
“Well…yeah. I been here all week bored to death,” she said briefly thinking of the afternoon two days ago when John had snuck in by way of the woods and came in through a window. An hour later he left the same way. “And the weather is perfect. I bet the fish are bitin’.”
Darla packed some food into an old backpack while Lloyd showered. She filled the cooler with plenty of beer; Pabst Blue Ribbon, the redneck drink of choice, and the only beer Lloyd ever drank. Because she wanted to take Lloyd’s truck to Wilson Rock rather than walking to the rock pit, she started loading the food, beer, and fishing equipment into the truck bed.
“Good Lord, woman,” he said when he came outside, “you’d think we was goin’ on a week vacation you packed so much. We don’t need all that.”
“There ain’t nothin’ here we don’t need, baby. All I got was food and drinks and fishin’ stuff.”
He twisted his neck to look in the back of the truck. “We can’t drive this through the woods to the Rock Pit and I sure as hell ain’t carrying all that.”
“I thought maybe we could just drive over to Wilson Rock and fish there instead.” Leaning in close to Lloyd and making a circle with her finger around his belly button, she lowered her voice to a little girl whisper and looked up at him. “I brought us a blanket too,” she said.
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“Git in, ornery,” he said, opening the truck door for her.
Darla wanted to be wrong about Lloyd. She wanted him to be kind and loving, but he was cruel. He had hurt her more than she cared to think about over the years. She wanted to believe that he never meant to, but was never quite able to convince herself of that. They had some good times too. There was a picture hanging up on the wall at Ed Walker’s in Fort Smith, where they went after their wedding. It showed them laughing and dancing together. Proof they had good times. And even though she had three miscarriages, Lloyd never blamed Darla. That meant something. It meant he loved her.
Wilson Rock was tucked deep into the woods but only a short drive from Lloyd and Darla’s. They fished for a while, laughing and talking, and Darla had almost decided she was mistaken about the picture on the news. That couldn’t have been her husband, but she thought it better to ask him some questions so when things weren’t going so good she didn’t get back on the idea it was him.
“I ain’t been here to Wilson Rock in forever, Lloyd,” she said, scooting her bottom closer to his and laying her head on his shoulder. “Have you?”
She felt him stiffen for a moment.
“Oh, I don’t know. Me and L.B. come here sometimes,” Lloyd said, shrugging his shoulder so Darla would lift her head. “How’s your momma been?”
At that moment the flame that had almost gone out in Darla’s stomach flared up. He was changing the subject. “You know Momma. She keeps on no matter what. When was the last time you was here with L.B.?”
“Few weeks ago I guess. Why you askin’? Don’t ask me so many goddamn questions.” He’d drunk quite a few of the beers Darla packed and his words were falling together, but she saw the anger in his eyes and heard the danger in his voice.
“No reason,” she said, giving him another beer. “This is just so secluded, nobody around, and I was just thinkin’ bout you and L.B. bein’ here. Seems funny when it’s such a quiet place and L.B. being not so quiet.” She forced a little giggle and stood up.
She had made sure the tackle box was in the path from where she sat to where the blanket was. As she walked over to the blanket, she reached in and pulled out Lloyd’s seven inch fillet knife. His “fish guttin’” knife. She tucked it under the tattered edge of the blanket and began to undress, tossing her clothes far from where she stood. “Lloyd,” she said as she threw her panties as close to him as she could, “come over here with me.”
He turned his head enough to see her standing there naked. He sat the beer down and picked up her panties and held them up to his face before stuffing them in his pocket, something he did when they were first married. He’d said he kept them for a day or so as a souvenir. As he rose to his feet he wobbled, nearly losing his balance.
“Come on, baby,” Darla said, “I’m gonna show what this place is good for.”
Lloyd shuffled and stumbled his way over to the blanket and groped her as she laid him down on the blanket. “Lloyd,” she said, straddling the big man, “did you hear there was a woman who was raped up here and left on the road a couple months ago?”
He was lost in the booze and her body and mumbled something she couldn’" t understand.
“I saw it on the news, that’s why I wanted to come here,” she said.
“Why? You wanna play rough?” Lloyd asked, offering a sloppy smile and attempting to throw Darla from her position of power. She stiffened in resistance and he was too drunk to force her off.
“No,” she said. She leaned forward so their noses were nearly touching as she spoke. “When I saw it and realized how secluded this place is and that you and L.B. come out here all the time, I got worried.”
His eyes were closed and she knew he did not know where the conversation was going. “There was a drawing of the two men who abducted her,” she said.
Lloyd’h s eyes slowly opened.
Darla reached under the edge of the blanket feeling for the knife. When she felt the handle firmly in the palm of her hand, she continued. “ It looked like you and L.B.”
Lloyd tried to struggle, but he was too drunk and slow. Darla pulled the knife from under the blanket and held it against his gut.
“You and L.B. picked that girl up and brought her out here and raped her,” she said through gritted teeth. “You raped her and left her for dead on the side of the road. I was home washing your laundry, cleaning your house, and cooking a supper you wouldn’t be home to eat and you were out fucking that girl.”
“Don’t be stupid, Darla.”
“Why would you do that, Lloyd? Why?”
“It wasn’t us.”
Anger grew in Darla and she could feel her entire body trembling. “Don’t lie to me! I know it was you. I saw your picture on the news.”
Lloyd only stared at her so she pressed on him with the knife, not enough to cut him, but enough to remind him she could.
“That girl, she was my sister’s baby. My niece.”
“So what,” Lloyd said.
“What did you say?” Darla asked, crying now.
“I said so what. I went out and found that nice piece of sweet ass because I didn’t want your tired, used up snatch.” Lloyd gave a half-smile, half-snarl. “I shoulda knowed she was your family. She sounded just like you do when you get fucked.”
Shaking so hard she could barely control herself, Darla spit in Lloyd’s face. She no longer saw her husband. Instead she saw a monster -- cruel, hideous, dangerous, familiar.
“Fuck you, you bi--,” he said.
Darla held the handle with both hands and leaned hard on the knife. She felt the soft flesh beneath it give way and she pulled up as hard as she could. Her hands felt slippery and warm as they guided the knife through muscle and fat to the precious organs. Lloyd’s eyes widened and blood bubbles came out of his mouth, muffling the gurgling sounds he made.
Darla leaned in close to Lloyd’s ear and whispered, “No, fuck you,” as she pulled up on the knife one last time.
In a haze of exhaustion and shock, Darla walked to the edge of the murky water. She was shaking and her knees were incredibly weak as she waded in. Around her the water turned from muddy green-brown to red and she felt sick. Fighting the urge to throw up she dove in, allowing the cool water to comfort and calm her.
When she felt she gained control of herself again, she began the work of cleaning up. She put all the fishing equipment and food into the bed of the pickup truck. Then she undressed Lloyd. She would have to get rid of his clothes later. Darla wrapped the blanket around Lloyd’s body and dragged him to a steep edge of the bank where the water was deep beneath, then held onto the edge of the blanket and rolled the body out of its cocoon and into the water.
It was getting dark, but Darla could see there was a small puddle of blood on the ground where Lloyd had been. After putting on her clothes, she did her best to cover the puddle with dirt and brush from the woods and drove home.
As she pulled into the driveway, Darla prayed L.B. would not be home, and if he was, that he would not see her get out of the truck. She was relieved to not to see his car and that the windows were all dark. She took the backpack and her fishing pole into the house then carried Lloyd’s pole, his clothes, the tackle box, and the cooler through the woods to the rock pit behind their house. The darkness made it difficult to see, but she had trekked the path so many times she didn’t need light to find her way.
Once there, she arranged the items to look as though Lloyd had been there fishing. After making sure she had taken care of everything, she went back home.
The last bit of business to take care of was the blanket and bloody clothes. She wadded it up tight and put it in a trash bag. The city didn’t collect the trash from the mountain; instead, the people who lived there burned their trash in big barrels usually behind their homes. There were bags of trash from the last few weeks piled up behind the house in a wooden bin near to the burn barrels. Darla took the bag with the blanket in it and stuffed it in among the other bags then piled a few more on top. She would wait a few days before burning them to keep from raising suspicion by burning trash in the middle of the night immediately after he disappeared. The last thing she wanted was someone sifting through the ashes in her burn barrel.
***
Darla was in her yard pulling weeds from her flower beds when L.B. came racing into the driveway shared by the two houses. She smiled and waved at him as he got out of his car. He only nodded his head in return and Darla watched as he walked toward his house. She was always taken aback by how alike L.B. and Lloyd were. True, L.B.’s hair was straight where Lloyd’s was curly and L.B. was short and stout while Lloyd was tall and lean. But they both walked with the same stride, had the same boisterous laugh, and both made her feel a mixture of fear and desire.
She was inside putting away her trowel under the kitchen sink when she heard the squeak of the gate. L.B. knocked on the door then came in.
“Hey, Darla,” he said. “Lloyd around?”
Darla wiped her hands on the back of her shorts to hide the trembling and smiled. “No, he sure ain’t.”
“His truck is out front. Means he ought to be here,” L.B. said, looking around the living room for evidence of Lloyd.
“I assumed he was with you,” Darla said, “or maybe Bubby.”
“He ain’t with me. And I just left Bubby’s a while ago. He ain’t there neither.”
L.B. stepped closer to Darla, stopping to look into her bedroom. “In fact, Bubby says you was there a couple days ago looking for Lloyd and that Lloyd said he was coming home yesterday.”
Doing her best to appear worried, Darla said, "He did come home, but I took a nap and when I woke up he was gone. I thought maybe he left with one of you boys.”
He stood silent for a moment then gave Darla a half-smile. “You hear ‘ bout that girl at Wilson Rock?” he asked.
“I did,” she answered. “It’s a damn shame. Poor girl. She was awful young.”
“You see it on the news?”
Darla only stared at him.
“I saw it myself on the news. Had a picture of them guys and everything,” L.B. said. His eyes darted around the room then settled firmly on Darla.
The two stood looking at one another. Darla was barely breathing.
“I’m sure ol’ Lloyd’ll turn up. You know how he is, always up to somethin’,” he said. “When you see him, tell him I’m lookin’ fer him.”
“Will do. You do the same if you see him first,” Darla said.
That night as Darla lay in bed trying to sleep, she heard a noise on the front porch. After a minute the noise stopped and Darla went to check what was going on, afraid a raccoon or possum drug something onto her porch. She looked out the window and saw something in front of the door. She turned on the porch light and looked out. There, in front of the door, was Lloyd’s fishing pole, his cooler, and his tackle box. As she bent to pick the things up, she noticed L.B.’s porch light go out.
Just as she locked the door, the phone rang startling her. She picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”
There was silence on the other end, but she could hear someone breathing.
“Hello,” she said again.
“I see you found Lloyd’s things I left you,” L.B. said slowly. He was probably drunk or stoned.
“Yes, I did.” She had to sit down.
“Funny thing. I found that stuff down at the rock pit, but Lloyd wasn’t there.”
“Nope. Just his stuff. Guess he went fishin’ down there.”
“Guess so,” Darla said. “Maybe –“
“Here’s what I don’t get. You wanna know what I don’t get, Darla?” L.B. asked.
Darla closed her eyes.
“What I don’t get,” he said, not waiting for her to answer, “is that he only goes down there with you. And, hell, we both know you just go down there to fuck. He ain’t actually fished there in years. Did you go down there with him, Darla?”
Darla had to force herself to speak. “No, I told you I woke up from a nap and he was gone.”
She heard him blow air through his nose and let out a low chuckle.
“Sure would hate to think something happened to him,” L.B. said. “ Don’t you worry though, Darla. If somethin’ happened to my brother, I’ll find out and whoever did it’ll get what’s comin’ to em. Don’t you worry ‘bout that.”
“Thank you, L.B.,” she said.
“Now you get some sleep, Darla. And don’t forget, I’m right here,” L.B. said and hung up.
Since the police kept clear of the Mason’s, Darla never much worried about going to prison. She actually thought they might be glad to be rid of Lloyd. What she did worry about was Lloyd’s brothers, especially L.B. If he found out what she had done, he would kill her for sure.
The next day Darla tried to act as though nothing was wrong. She made a cup of coffee and opened the door to go drink it on the porch like always. When she started out the door she saw a pile of clothes on the swing. It was Lloyd’s pants and shirt and something else on top. When she was close enough to see what was lying on top of Lloyd’s clothes, she dropped her cup and let out a small yelp. It was the pair of panties she was wearing that night at Wilson Rock. She didn’t always wear underwear and had forgotten Lloyd put them in his pocket.
Picking them up, she looked over at L.B.’s house and there he was standing in the open doorway watching her. Darla went quickly inside, grabbed the truck keys, and ran to Lloyd’s truck. She headed toward the police station as fast as she could, but hadn’t gone far when she pulled over onto the side of the road.
She reached her hand under the seat and fished around, feeling for package she knew was there. Her fingers closed around the plastic bag she was searching for. The gallon size zip-loc bag was full of smaller baggies and a few loose joints; Lloyd and L.B.’s homegrown, packaged to sell. She threw the bag into the seat and raced down the road.
Once at the police station, she walked inside and told the frumpy woman behind the window she needed to speak with someone, preferably a detective.
The lady looked at her with eyes full of judgment and disdain. “This is Muldrow, honey, we don’t have detectives. Take a seat over there. Someone will talk to you when they can.”
“I don’t care. Anyone. It’s an emergency,” Darla said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“It always is. Take a seat like I said,” the woman said, picking up the romance novel she had been reading.
Furious, Darla slung the bag of pot onto the counter directly in front of the woman’s face. “Listen here, you stupid bitch, my name is Darla Mason. I need to speak with a police officer.”
The woman got up and waddled to the back of the office and through a door. A few moments later the door leading to the office behind the glass opened and a tall, fat man in a police uniform said, “Mrs. Mason, I’m Officer Jude. Cathy tells me you need to see me.”
“I’ve got this bag of weed and I’m headin’ to the school to sell it,”" she said.
“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down there ma’am. Why don’t you just take a minute and think about what you’re saying?”
“Thinking isn’t gonna do shit for me,” Darla said, reaching her shaking fingers into the bag and closing them around a joint. She pulled a lighter out of her back pocket. The woman in the office stared with her eyes wide and mouth gaping as Darla brought the joint up to her lips, lit it, and took a long slow drag.
Officer Jude’s face turned red and his eyes narrowed. One of his big hands closed around her elbow as the other snatched the joint out of her mouth and threw it to the floor where he crushed it with his foot. “What the --?”
Darla struggled to keep up with Officer Jude as he pulled her through the office and into a small room. The room was warm, too warm, and had nothing but a table and two chairs in it. He shoved her into a chair then sat across from her. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinking back there? You act like you want me to put you in jail.”
Darla sat quietly. She did not simply want to be thrown in jail, she needed to be thrown in jail. A jail cell was the only place she could think of where she would be safe from L.B.
“You’re Lloyd’s wife ain’t ya?” he asked, running his hand through his thinning hair.
Offering no response, she sat there with her eyes darting around the room like an animal in a trap.
“I know them Mason boys pretty well, Mrs. Mason. L.B. and Lloyd, we do some, er,” Officer Jude stopped and cleared his throat, “business. Lloyd won’t be happy about this.”
Darla’s eyes snapped onto Officer Jude’s face. She was terrified and he could see it.
Nodding his head, the police officer let out a little laugh. “He sure is a mean one. Him and Lloyd both are. Say, are you hungry? You need something to eat or drink? Coffee maybe?”
“No. Thank you,” Darla answered, finally able to speak.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go get me a cup of coffee then me and you can have us a little talk,” he said, walking toward the door.
A few minutes later, he returned. Darla watched for a moment as he drank his coffee. Then he sat the cup down and smiled at her. “ There now that’s better. How are you feeling, Mrs. Mason?”
Darla was actually beginning to calm down. He was going to lock her up and she would be safe at least for a while.
After a few minutes of sitting in silence drinking his coffee, Officer Jude looked at his watch then started for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Darla was confused. She expected to be cuffed and questioned then arrested, but instead it was as though she was being babysat. She sat in confused silence for some time before the door opened and Officer Jude returned to his seat.
“We got us a little problem, Mrs. Mason,” he said.
“Problem?” she asked, fear causing her throat to close.
“See, I ain’t lookin’ to upset your husband.”
“But you have to put me in jail. I was going to sell that weed to kids at the school.” Darla stood up and backed against the wall. “To children.”
“I don’t think you’re aiming to do that,” he said.
Darla felt as though she was going to be sick. She could not go back home. L.B. knew and would kill her. Officer Jude grabbed her by the arm and began leading her out the door and towards the waiting area.
“Now I can see how upset you are and you probably shouldn’t drive like this. So I called someone to come pick you up,” he said.
Horrified, Darla tried to go back into the interrogation room, but the man would not let go of her arm. She was trying to get loose when she heard the door open and a voice saying, “Thanks for calling me, Billy Ray.”
She gave up fighting and looked at Officer Jude who was smiling. “Anytime, buddy. You take care now,” he said as he handed her over to L.B.