Ready to Run Ch. 01

He turned the coin over. He thought about that building. How that black slave girl must have felt. Choice had nothing to do with it. Sally Hemings never had any. She was born with three strikes against her. She was a woman. She was black. And she was a slave. She died a slave too. That man didn’t even have the decency to give the woman her freedom. Though she had papers ‘for time served’ given to her by Jefferson’s daughter after his death. Like she was paroled for spreading her legs for an old white man.

Sixteen. Bebe would be the same age. Assuming she was alive somewhere - which was a damned big assumption. Pain ripped through his chest. For a moment, his vision blurred, and he wondered how often thirty-three-year-old black men died of heart attacks. Was this how his grandmother felt for those forty-six minutes?

But something somewhere, maybe his grandparents had made a deal with their god, or perhaps it was just his Fate, but his vision cleared. Strength, which he had not realized had gone, returned to his limbs. And he knew just where he was going. It would assuredly be the last thing he did on this earth. But he was cool with that, too.

He flicked that nickel at the man by the door on his way out. He double-checked the ID on the man’s black suit coat. “Here, Agent Saunders. I don’t need this, either.”

He kept walking, not looking back. He hoped he made it to his bike and out the building before Tyler had time to rethink the guilt that had motivated him to release Will on his own recognizance. Yeah, he signed those papers too. Saying he would not leave town. But he had broken unjust laws already, what were a few more?

“Sebida, Texas, here I come,” he declared in the same clear voice in which he had given that speech a lifetime ago. He secured his motorcycle helmet, started the powerful engine between his thighs, and turned his Duchess north. But Sebida was anything but the Promised Land.

***

Mercy Reynolds looked out the big bay window that was the main feature of the Sebida County Library. Miss Myrtle’s old Chevy was parked in front of the only diner in town. That meant Abby Jean was having a late lunch with Lizzy. She wished that she could take a break and join her only friends. But she had a job to do.

After all, she was Head Librarian. The job sounded a lot better than it was. Only twenty hours per week, and barely more than minimum wage. After all the money her sister Laura spent on four years of college, and she earned barely enough to keep from being a financial burden on Mama. A thirty-two-year-old virgin with nothing more than a part-time job and still living at home with her mother. In a fucking trailer, nonetheless.

Still, considering how she had begun life – the third bastard daughter of an illegal alien and the disavowed daughter of a preacher – Mercy guessed she could not complain. Librarian beat the hell out of working the night shift at the local convenience store and getting robbed every other weekend. The way her Mama had to put a roof over her girls’ heads, food on the table, and keep the power on - most of the time.

Maybe it was her damned writer’s brain? This need to just take off, see the world, and have some big adventure. She certainly did not want to believe it had anything to do with some ‘wanderer’ gene that she had inherited from Ignacio Garcia, a man she had never met.

But instead of some grand adventure, she googled far off places, distant stars, and ancient history. Then she wrote trashy romances about those things. Sci-fi aliens, Sultan’s harems, or just places she would never see like Paris and Rome. She had self-published half-a-dozen of them. And in a good month, it was enough to pay her cell phone bill.

The phone rang, pulling Mercy from the pity party that was so unlike her otherwise cheerful self. She rushed across the small room to grab the receiver. The library still had a phone with a cord. This was Sebida, after all.

“Sebida County Library. This is Mercy speaking. How may I help you?”

“It’s Mama.”

Mercy’s stomach dropped to her toes. Her family never called her at work. Though they all had the number programmed into their phones for emergencies. Because they knew that she did not answer her cell when she was at work, the thing was in the back storage and break room in her bag.

She cut straight to the chase, “What’s wrong, Mama? Is Laura okay? The baby?” Her oldest sister had just given birth to her daughter the night before.

Mercy tried not to think about the yearning that had bubbled up inside her as she held that tiny pink bundle of sweet-smelling heaven. Laura was thirty-nine and had gotten pregnant with Chloe just fine. She had time. Mercy reassured herself, even if this latest round of broody was worse than the last.

She was not Laura. She knew that she could not handle single motherhood while her ‘husband’ went galivanting around the world on some mysterious mission for the government. And she had not been lucky like Elena to find a man who worshipped and adored her. What man would be willing to put up with her smart mouth shit?

“I need you to grab your bug out bag and meet me at the casino,” her Mama’s words brought her back to the moment.

She must have missed something, “What, Mama? I don’t understand.”

“Dammit, Mercedes Reba Reynolds, I don’t have time for your shit. I’ll explain it all, well as much as I know, when I get there. But right now, I am on my way to drop Elena off to Brad so they can get out of town. Your sister and that man are already on the road.”

“What’s this all about?” Though she had a pretty good idea. She had honestly never thought it would come to this.

Not that they were not all prepared. Her Mama was the queen of prepping. For as long as Mercy could remember, Stacey Reynolds had drilled her daughters on one emergency or another. They had a plan for fire, tornado, robbers, even the alien apocalypse. But this one was the latest.

“All I can say now is that the McBride chickens are coming home to roost, baby.”

There it was. The answer that Mercy had been dreading the most, but the one that somehow she had known would come.

“Why the casino, Mama? That ain’t part of the plan.”

“Plans change, you know that, Mercy. And right now, all of us are safer if we aren’t together. Like I said, I’ll tell you more when I get there. I just need to drop Elena off and get back to Laura’s place.”

There was a long pause. That worried Mercy, it was not like her Mama. “I need to deal with Sherriff Kerr first. Then I’ll join you at the casino.”

Mercy’s heart dropped into her shoes at the mention of the man’s man. Especially if it meant Mama going anywhere near that man. Alone? “No, Mama, I’ll meet you back at the trailer or Laura’s place. Just tell me where,” she pleaded like the little girl she felt at that moment.

“No, I told you where to go, and I meant it. I’ll deal with this shit and meet you there as soon as I can.”

“But Mama…”

“Don’t you ‘but Mama’ me. I can’t keep my focus and deal with everything if I have to be worried about you. I mean it, Mercy. The best thing you can do for your sisters and me, and those nieces, is to close that library and get your butt to the casino where you’ll be safe. I want you to promise me you’ll do what I say, babygirl.”

Mercy wanted to argue. She wanted to demand that Mama go straight to the casino. But she knew better than anyone the lengths her Mama would go to protect her girls. Besides, she was right - this was about more than her or Mama or even sisters, those little girls Rehab and Chloe needed them all to protect them. To do better by them. “I promise, Mama.”

She looked around the library. Only Miss Mable was there. She would tell the woman that she had a family emergency and had to shut down early. “Okay, Mama. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

She raised her voice beyond the library whisper, making sure that the older woman heard. The news would be all over town before she even made the fifteen-minute drive to the casino outside of town. This was Sebida, after all. Everyone knew everyone else’s business and gossiped about it. Someone should tell these people about reality tv.

“Do you have your bugout bag with you?”

“Of course, Mama,” she smiled at Miss Mable.

“Okay, I want you to promise me that if I don’t make it there by morning, you’ll take the money and get out of town. Hell, out of Texas. Fuck, out of this country. You have that fancy passport in there, right? Go to fucking Paris or Rome like you dream about.”

Now Mercy was worried. She would almost swear she heard fear in her mother’s voice. But nothing had scared Stacey Ruth Reynolds in a very long time. She had survived the betrayal of her husband and the abandonment of her self-righteous family. She had worked two, sometimes three or more jobs to raise her girls. Hell, they all joked that Reba must have been talking about Mama when she wrote that damned song.

To hear even the faintest hint of that fear or doubt in the woman’s voice set Mercy on her red neck ass and took her back to a very dark place. “I promise, Mama. But it ain’t gonna come to that.” She took her voice back down to librarian level, “I love you, Mama. I’ll see you there soon.”

“I love you, baby girl. Just know that no matter what happens, I loved you all. You were my life. The best thing I ever did.”

Mercy heard tears in her Mama’s voice. She gripped the desk for dear life. Mama never cried. Never once. At least not in front of her daughters. The line went dead. That horrid peep sounded in her ear, and she had to turn her back so that Miss Mable could not see her wipe the tears from her own eyes.

She inhaled, squared her shoulders, and reminded herself that the Reynolds women were strong. They had made it through Thanksgivings without a turkey and Christmases when the only presents came from the Salvation Army’s bargain bin. Hell, power had almost been a luxury growing up. They had survived all that. And they would this, too. Whatever this was.

She hummed that song under her breath as she closed her eyes. She was not Elena. She did not believe in some god somewhere who would keep them safe. Mama had taught her that the only person you could rely on was yourself and your family. But they weren’t here right now. So, she would pull her shit together. Put on her big girl panties. The Wonder Woman ones that she had bought on sale at Walmax were packed in that bag in the back.

But first, she plastered on that smile. The one that she had perfected by the time she went to kindergarten. Laura had taught her how to handle the ‘good people’ of Sebida before she set foot on that old yellow school bus. “Hold your head up, proud, and smile.” That was precisely what she did now as she turned to Miss Mable.

“I’m really sorry, Miss Mable, but that was my Mama. It seems we have a bit of a family emergency. So, I need to close the library early. But I’m happy to check those books out for you first.” Mercy was proud of how calm her voice sounded. Almost like nothing had happened. Certainly not her Mama crying on the phone.

The old woman hobbled to the desk, “Oh dear, yes, Patsy said that sister of yours was having a bit of trouble. Whatever was she thinking about, having that a baby at home? That’s what the good lord made hospitals for.”

Mercy bit the inside of her cheek and smiled even wider. She nodded her head and played along with the woman. Mama had not said what cover story to use, so this was as good as any. It did not even surprise her that half the town seemed to know more about what was happening than she did.

She was used to being gossip fodder for these people. Maybe that was why she was a thirty-two-year-old virgin who still lived at home with her mother? Too afraid to give them more to talk about, so she had never bothered to actually live? That was a good enough excuse to keep her from looking more in-depth for the real cause of her fear of intimacy.

The older woman reached out her arthritic hand and took Mercy’s. She squeezed gently, “I’ll add Laura and that baby to our prayer chain. That husband of hers, too. Patsy said the man arrived just in time for the birth.”

“What was the man’s name again, dearie? I know that Laura insists on keeping the name Reynolds, though why I’ll never understand. It ain’t right if you ask me. These women today not even taking their husband’s last name when they get married.”

Mercy wanted to scream. She wanted to push the old woman out the door and tell her to mind her own fucking business. She knew that ‘prayer circle’ was just a euphemism for the blue-haired betty club that fed the gossip mill in Sebida.

But right now, she needed to get out of here. Besides, laying a false trail might be in everyone’s best interest. “Ryan. Her husband’s name is Ryan Ranger.”

The old woman nodded that blue-head, “Yes, Patsy said he was quite a handsome young man, too. He was one of our boys over there, wasn’t he, sweetie?”

And here it was. Mercy knew that this woman would keep her here for hours, pumping her for information. But she had other places to be. “I’m sorry, Miss Mable, but I really do need to get going. I’m sure you understand.” She gently removed the woman’s hand from her arm.

She saw Miss Mable lift her proud nose. She knew those words before the woman ever opened her mouth, “Well, yes, dear.”

It was the ultimate snub. But Mercy was used to it by now. She smiled as she put her hand on the woman’s back and pointed her towards the door. “Thank you for visiting the Sebida County library. Ya’ll come back now, ya hear.”

It was the words that Mercy had perfected to end these types of conversations. Most of the patrons of the library were those blue-haired betties. And most of them came into the library, not for the same couple of hundred books they had read years ago. But for the sheer privilege of pumping Mercy for the latest on her family.

Hell, this place would have probably been closed long ago if they had any other librarian. All the young people had Kindles, audible on their phones, or watched YouTubes. Hell, she bet the old betties did too. When they weren’t in here, torturing her.

She closed the front door, locked it, and turned the sign to closed in the big bay window. Mercy slipped into the back breakroom and grabbed the backpack that her Mama had picked up at the Army-Navy store or thrift shop. She quickly rummaged through it, double-checking that she had what she needed.

Clothes. A few protein bars, water, and dried fruit snacks for emergencies. A big, heavy flashlight. One of those metallic blanket things. A burner phone. Her passport. More money than she made in a whole fucking year – thanks to Laura. And her Smith & Wesson .380 EZ Shield.

She went to put the gun back at the bottom of the bag, where she usually kept it. But something stopped her. “Better safe than sorry,” as she slid the thing into the side pocket where it was more accessible. Something told her not even to bother fastening that pocket. That sent a shiver down her spine.

She had just turned out the lights and was setting the alarm when the police cruiser drove up. “Just what I fucking need now,” she cussed under her breath as she plastered that special smile back on her face and turned as the man got out of his car. “Sherriff Earl Kerr, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She fingered the side pocket on the bag as she spoke. In her mind, she hummed another tune. ‘I shot the sheriff,’ had a real nice ring to it when you grew up in Sebida, Texas.