Ned pulled the rooster’s head out of his mouth and spit a mouthful of blood into the dirt. Uncle Casper, ever the vigilant master of ceremonies, held out a bottle of water he snatched from thin air and let Ned take a swig. Ned swished the water around in his mouth and spit another red stream across the cedar wall. “Round two, baby.” His teeth were still slick and pink behind his grin when he spoke.
“Oh, okay. You think you still got it, white boy?” Eddie picked up his bird and the two of them went through the face-off again. “Turo tried that trick and still lost his ass, Casper, you remember? He was puking his guts out after.”
The old man nodded.
“Lemon-head is going out the same way Bobby-boy did.” Eddie howled and made a quivering motion that made his muscles ripple. “Count us down, Casper.”
The old man held his arm out again. “Three—two—one—”
Both birds dropped to the dirt, but there was no circling this time. Blood had been drawn. They were in a frenzy from the jump. The white bird pecked with its broken beak, possessed by some renewed vigor, but it wasn’t enough. Eddie’s bird struck again and again until Ned’s bird dropped under its own weight. Eddie didn’t wait for the match to be called. He knew it was over. Everyone did. He snatched up his bird and held it high above his head. “What’s my name, bitches?” Eddie kept the bird up high as he circled the pen. The Mexicans went back to speaking Spanish, but Eddie still didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t even thinking about the money. He was relishing his win. Ned squatted down to pick up his broken bird. It didn’t seem to have any strength left in it at all. Ned gently picked it up and handed it over the four-foot wall to Casper, who took it, pulled in its wings, and walked out the open door on the other side of the barn.
Roselita leaned over to Dane, who’d taken a seat in a wooden chair he’d found propped against the wall. He hadn’t seen what happened, but he’d seen enough of these things to know the outcome. “What happens to that one?” Roselita said. “The loser.”
Dane just tipped his chin toward the back door. They both watched Casper twist and snap the bird’s neck before he disappeared outside into the sunlight.
“He’ll go toss it in the incinerator out back.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, fly fishing it ain’t. There’s a reason this shit ain’t legal in Georgia.”
“Yet here we are.”
Dane slid his ball cap back on his forehead. “Yeah, here we are.”
* * *
Ned came out of the barn after completely rinsing the taste of blood from his mouth with the rest of the bottle of water. He tossed the empty plastic container in a trash barrel and joined Dane and Roselita at a picnic table out by the incinerator. The smell of burnt feathers was a lot like the smell of burning hair, but the breeze cleared the stink away in no time, and now it smelled more like a Sunday afternoon barbecue. The sun was setting behind the mountain and it had begun to get a little cooler. Casper had gone inside, but not before taking a pitcher of iced tea from the main house and setting it on the table. Eddie was over the rush of his win and didn’t look all that happy anymore, especially with Ned. His face conveyed annoyance, but something in his eyes was harder than that. He carried a meanness in them that made everyone uncomfortable. Once everyone uninvolved with the business at hand had departed, he spoke. “That stunt you pulled, sucking that bird’s head clear like that. It could’ve gone the other way and ended up costing me money.”
Ned put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and used him as a prop to slip himself down on the bench. “Yeah, but it didn’t, did it? There’s a lot to be said for showmanship.”
“True that,” Eddie said, and tucked the fat fold of cash he’d just taken from the Mexicans into his jeans. “Just don’t expect a cut ’cause you swallowed a little blood.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Rooster.”
“So, now that my business is concluded, how about somebody tell me what y’all are doing here?”
Dane spoke up. “What’s your relationship with Arnold Blackwell?”
“Who?”
Dane didn’t repeat himself. He wasn’t feeling all that great. His stomach felt tight as a fist and the smell of the burning chicken behind him wasn’t helping loosen it up. Eddie poured some tea and Roselita saw the action for what it was. He was stalling. Roselita read every detail on Eddie’s face during that moment of hesitation. The way his tense brow softened up as soon as Dane mentioned Blackwell, and the way his eyes shifted down and to the left just for a split second before he grabbed the pitcher, before his eyes went cold and hard again, cold and hard as stone. It told Roselita everything she needed to know about Eddie Rockdale. He was in the game. No matter what he claimed. Rockdale poured some tea into a mason jar for Dane and Ned as well. Dane didn’t touch it. Ned drank it down to the bare ice.
“You asked what we are doing here, Mr. Rockdale. That’s the answer. I’d think you’d appreciate Dane being direct.”
Eddie stalled again. “And who exactly are you again?”
“You know who I am, Mr. Rockdale. There’s no need to flex. It’s a simple question. You do know Arnold Blackwell, do you not?”
“Yeah, of course I know him. Everybody knows him. He took the Slasher.”
“The tournament you held out here at this farm last week?”
Eddie’s smile returned and he shook his head. “Is that what you’re here for, Kirby? Damn, man. You want to break my balls because I hosted this year?”
Dane shook his head. “No. That’s not why we’re here at all. We’re—I’m—asking if you knew this Blackwell guy personally.”
“He means how well did you know him?” Roselita said.
“I know what the motherfucker means.” Eddie glared at Roselita and then turned back to Dane. “I knew him as well as any other white boy who comes out here looking to make some scratch. That’s it. No more. No less. He got his birds from me. He’s been coming up here for months. Wait—you said ‘knew.’” Eddie leaned back. “Is he dead already?”
“Yes, he is,” Dane said, looking at his pale skin in the fading sunlight, fighting back the memory of that motel room in Florida.
“That didn’t take long—the flips kill him? They lost their ass. The Mexicans did, too, but those flip boys were fuming. Was it them?”
Roselita took the volley. “We’re not at liberty to discuss the details of an ongoing murder investigation with you, Mr. Rockdale. We’re out here hoping you could help us out with something else entirely.”
“Really. And what would that be?”
Dane wiped at his forehead with his hat and then laid it on the table. “Did Arnold ever have anyone with him?”
“You mean the kid?”
Roselita sat up straight on the bench and Dane took out the photograph of William with his parents he’d lifted from the apartment back in Cobb County. He slid it across the pine table. “This kid? He had this kid out here with him?”
Eddie picked up the photograph and nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Don’t tell me Blackwell kidnapped the little fucker. I can’t be involved in any shit like that. I just sold the guy some birds. That’s it.”