Beertown was a tavern in Henderson where students from the University of Southwestern Louisiana in Lafayette came to drink beer during the school year. There were fishing nets with cork floats strung on the walls, a couple of open muskrat traps on display, a warmouth bass mounted behind the bar, a juke and a shuffleboard and a lot of undistinguished country music, which is why the college kids liked it.
School was out for the summer, so it was once more Cajun country. At the bar a group of young bucks, Minus among them, was drinking beer. The bartender, Ta-Tese, was their age and obviously one of them.
“Eh la bas, Minus,” he said. “Your roun’.”
Minus checked his watch, nodded. “Tu dis.”
Ta-Tese got fresh beers all around from the cooler, plunked them down on the bar. He winked at the other Cajuns.
“Why you honor us comin’ roun’ here to do your drinkin’?”
Minus drank from the bottle neck like they all did.
“Dat Vangie, she back from de big city.”
Cojo exclaimed “Pensez-donc!” in wonder. “Dat was one pretty girl, her. What she lak after all dese years, man?”
Minus couldn’t resist making a whistling mouth and waving one hand as if he had just slammed it in the door.
“Poo-ya-yi! Dat some woman!” Then he laughed and punched Cojo on the shoulder. “An’ she invite me to come out to de store tonight, drink beer wit her and her folks.” He set his empty bottle on the counter, slapped some money down beside it for the round of beers. “Henderson is closer to Broussard’s Store an’ Vangie den Lafayette is. And dat’s why Minus honors you by comin’ round here tonight fo’ a beer.”
He started for the door laughing at their envious faces. Until she had dropped out at the age of sixteen, Vangie had been just about the hottest number their high school had ever seen.
23
The Cajuns emerged from Broussard’s Store in the deepening dusk, one carrying a six-pack, the other a paper bag. Maxton, Nicky, and Trask were over by the edge of the porch, putting their empties in the wooden crate left there for that purpose.
They covertly watched the others depart.
“Nicky, stay out here in case anyone else comes.”
Maxton and Trask went in, their entry jingling the little bell merrily. Maman hurried from the living quarters, went behind the front counter. Her face was flushed from cooking.
“You want a couple more beers, you?” she asked brightly.
“We want your daughter,” said Maxton.
Maman leaned on her elbows and locked her eyes on the network sitcom feed now coming in on the blurry little TV, thus further concealing the attaché case with her body should any of them come around behind the counter.
“Go off ten year ago, her,” she said.
“Come back today, her,” said Maxton harshly.
“We want your daughter Vangie, goddammit!” yelled Trask. He loved this stuff. It excited him.
“No see her, ten year.”
Maxton slapped her explosively across the face. Maman cowered back against the wall, her hands up to protect herself from a beating. Maxton made a disgusted gesture and went back toward the living area. Trask took over, carelessly.
“Tell us now, you old sow, or I’ll hurt you bad.”
He reached for her, and clawed hands flashed out to rip down his cheeks. Trask reeled back, yelling, his face pouring blood as Maman ducked under his arm and was gone. He crashed after her, toppling merchandise to right and left. Maxton emerged from the living area.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Fucking old bitch clawed my face.”
“Well, at least you were right about the clothes, Trask — I remember that outfit from Chicago. Now go find the old lady. She can’t get by Nicky on the front and I’ll cover here.”
Crouching behind a rack of hunting clothes, Maman jerked down the circuit breaker. Instant darkness.
Maxton’s voice wobbled with earnestness. “Goddam her!”
Red and green running lights glowed out to the side of Papa’s flatboat as it approached the landing. The wake curled palely in the near darkness. He turned the throttle, the motor dropped in pitch, the boat slowed. He reached back to keep Vangie’s towed flatboat from running over them as he cut the motor and the keel grated on the bank. Vangie jumped ashore.
“We put the fish in the live-box, Papa?”
“Tu dis,” he grinned.
He heard the mooring chain clink as Vangie wrapped it around the tree, could dimly see the open padlock in her hand.
He shook his head. “No, de chain hol’ her, good-good.” He had a big rich laugh for such a small, feisty man. “Bet Maman got one great big gumbo waitin’!”
Maman was in the bait room using both hands to hold a large scoop net submerged in one of the live-bait tanks. A sudden flashlight beam hit her square in the face. She crouched, tensed like a trapped bobcat, did everything but hiss.
In a satisfied voice, Trask called, “I got the old bitch.”
And the scoop net full of live wriggling shad slammed into his face. He crashed down on his back, flashlight flying, as Maman ran right over him up the stairs.
The dim battery-powered light in the cricket box at the front of the store had not gone out with the other lights. Maxton saw Maman scuttling from the bait room, a dark figure moving between him and that dim light. She ducked around behind the front counter, grabbed the attaché case, jerked open the screen door — and ran right into Nicky.
Trask stumbled up to grab her with savage pleasure.
“She’s fucking mine!” he exclaimed.
Nicky hissed, “Someone’s coming.”
Trask slapped a hand over Maman’s mouth, dragged her to the back of the store. Her eyes gleamed over his hand like those of a ferret in a trap. Maxton put the attaché case on the counter.
“Just keep quiet,” he said to Nicky in a low voice. “With the lights out, they’ll probably go away.”
Papa’s approaching voice said, “... an’ catfish gettin’ more a pound than they ever got.”
“That’s wonderful, Papa,” said Vangie’s voice.
Maxton hissed at Nicky, “That’s her! Quiet...”
Vangie stopped abruptly. “The lights are out, Papa.”
“Fous pas mal. Dat Maman, she in back makin’ supper, her.”
Without hesitation he went up the steps and across the porch. Maxton could see Papa’s silhouette appear in the paleoblong of the screen door. Papa came in, tinkling the bell. Vangie was coming warily a few steps behind him.
Maman twisted so her mouth was momentarily uncovered.
“Prenez garde!” she yelled.
Trask’s hand jerked her head savagely the other way, there was a loud snap and it remained over at the grotesque angle. Her eyes were wide and staring. Nicky jumped Papa, but her cry had alerted him, he was no easy prey for the strongarm. They went over sideways into the cricket box, smashing it to pieces.
Papa found breath to yell, “Vangie! Run!”
She grabbed the case as Maxton grabbed her. Kicking and clawing fiercely, she twisted free, slammed the screen door wide and was off the edge of the galerie with the attaché case. Maxton tried to do the same, his left foot came down in thin air, and he did a tremendous front flip off the edge of the porch.