In the Valley of the Devil by Hank Early

Author:Hank Early
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books
Published: 2018-07-10T07:00:00+00:00

29

Jessamine’s was a bar and diner situated just outside of downtown Riley, in a small strip mall that consisted of two other stores, both long closed. Only Jessamine’s remained, and from the looks of the parking lot as Rufus and I pulled up, it was doing better business than it had in years. I had to park in the grass lot in back.

Jessamine’s was the rare place that was actually two distinct establishments, depending on the time of day. Weekday lunch was populated by the working man—loggers, clergy, cops, and workers from the lime plant a few miles away. Most came for the lunch specials, which that day included baked chicken with your choice of three sides. At lunch, parents would feel fine bringing in their kids to eat here. At night, most responsible parents would keep their kids as far away as possible.

By night, Jessamine’s became a honky-tonk that was as good a place to get drunk and into a fight as any place in the county—hell, maybe the state. In fact, the last time I’d been here at night, I’d managed to get into a fight with a sheriff’s deputy, which was still in the back of my mind as I opened the door and surveyed the bar.

People stood three deep at the bar, and nearly every table in the place was full. A band played on a makeshift stage in the corner of the room. It was a band I’d heard before and liked, named Ghost Bells. They played scary folk blended seamlessly with bluegrass and old-time country, and they played it like their lives depended on every beautiful goddamn note. They were a three-piece: a tiny, redheaded girl played guitar and sang, backed by two scraggly men, both bearded and solemn-eyed, on the drums and the bass.

They were in the middle of a slow, lurching rendition of Roy Orbison’s “Blue Bayou,” and most of the crowd was mesmerized. Only one table seemed oblivious to the sounds, and that was Jeb Walsh’s table, over in one corner of the bar. Walsh sat with Preston Argent and six other men. I looked closely at each man, trying to determine if there was anyone else I recognized.

Only one: Mayor Keith.

They all ranged in age from their sixties (Keith and Walsh) to their thirties (Preston Argent) and even younger (there were two men who looked to be little more than boys, wearing pastel-colored polos and sporting haircuts with severe parts and lots of hair gel).

I didn’t see Lane Jefferson.

“Point me toward the bar?” Rufus said.

I touched his shoulder and guided him lightly through a throng of people, who parted as he approached. Most only glanced at him before quickly looking away. In fact, because of this phenomenon, Rufus had no trouble getting straight to the bar. He leaned against it, his mouth crooked into a half smile, and waited. A twenty-something kid with a ponytail came over, a worried look in his eyes.

“What can I get you?”

“Two double shots of bourbon,” he said.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.