Scott Andrews pulled into the gravel parking lot outside Ray's. The short brick building was wide with a tin roof on top. An electric sign by the road matched the faded one beside the door, announcing the place as Raymond's Social Club. Scott let out a soft chuckle when he saw the sign. Calling this place a social club was like putting lipstick on a pig. There was nothing about the atmosphere at Ray's that made it seem like a social club. Nothing but a bunch of crackers getting drunk and causing mischief. It wasn't as bad as Mike Norman's place was supposed to have been, Scott was just a kid when it burned down, but it was far and away rowdy by its own right. 

The only cars in the parking lot when Scott got there were Ray's pickup truck and Jed's black SUV. Scott parked near the door and walked inside. The walls of Ray's were plastered with all kinds of sports shit from around Pickett County over the years. Old photographs of Panthers football teams, newspapers cut out and framed, jerseys on the walls with autographs. There was a ball signed by the '93 state championship team, including starting left guard Scott Andrews.

"'Bout damn time," Ray said from behind the bar.

Ray Champion's look was just as harsh as the tone of his voice. He was wiry and lean with a constant scowl on his face. His gray hair was steadily growing more and more white with each passing year. The thick beard on his face made him look like a skinny Santa Claus in a bad mood. Ray was among Billy's oldest allies. A former SC Highway Patrolman, Ray had been working with Billy since back in the late 80's. He was part of all that fighting that went on between Billy and the Norman family. Pickett County legend had it that Ray was the one who did Daniel Norman in. Billy's muscle came and went over the years. Most went to jail, a few quit the life before it chewed them up, and an even smaller few met their end at the end of a gun. Amidst all that chaos, Ray was the one constant. The closest thing Billy had to a second in command.

"The hell's wrong with you," Ray said with a scowl. "Jed called your ass a half hour ago. Don't take no half hour to get here from anywhere in Pickett County." 

Scott put a plug of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He took his time, making a show of it. Done with that, he walked up to the bar and gave Ray a shrug. Ray had always rubbed Scott the wrong way. He rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Just an unmitigated asshole through and through.

"I'm watch commander tonight. I can't drop every damn thing and come running just because you and Jed call me. I got a goddamn job to do. I figure you'd understand that a bit better than the rest of 'em."

Ray shrugged and somehow furrowed his brow even worse than he had before.

"Whatever," he said before yelling, "Jed! He's here."

A heavy door behind the bar opened up. Scott saw a flash of metal. The big safe in the back was the stuff of legends. From the glimpses Scott occasionally caught, he estimated it was at least half his height and about as wide as his body. Some said it was Billy's bank, where he kept almost all of his money so either law enforcement or rivals couldn't get it. Another rumor was that it was the motherload of stashes. Weed, coke, dope, meth. Whatever Billy's people dealt in Pickett County came from that safe. Yet another rumor was that it's where Billy kept the souls of the men who worked for him over the years. A depository for the damned. Scott doubted the last rumor was true, since a crank addict missing all his teeth was the one who came up with that theory.

The door shut fast after Jed stepped out. Scott wasn't exactly short, and Jed still had him by about four inches. He wore a white tanktop that showed off his dark skin and ropey, taunt muscles. He wore a black do-rag over his hair.

"Let's go," Jed said without preamble. "Taking my truck."

"Where we headed?" Scott asked, looking between the two men.

"The Bog."

*****


DJ sat on the rotting steps of a house and smoked a cigarette. The sounds of crickets and tree frogs reverberated in the night. It was early fall, but still plenty warm enough for bugs to buzz around DJ's cigarette ember. A loud thump came from inside the dilapidated house behind DJ. He exhaled smoke and flicked his cigarette out towards the gravel road. 

About a half dozen crumbling houses sat around the stagnant pond everyone in Pickett County called the Bog. The houses were old, turn of the century shacks that hadn't had an occupant inside of them for over sixty years. The only thing people used the houses for anymore were for shady meetings and sexual trysts. You either went to the Bog to get in a fight or get laid was the conventional wisdom around town. 

The throes the man duck-tapped to the chair was in were not the throes of passion. He let out a squeal as Jim Brown let into his ribs with a set of brass knuckles. The two of them ran him down in a Jardin trailer park. His name was Howard something, DJ wasn't sure. All he knew for sure was that Billy wanted him found. Somebody in debt to Ray sent word that he found Howard smoking meth in a trailer with some girl. Jed called DJ and told him and Jim Brown to get their asses up to Jardin and find the guy but leave the girl alone. Howard and one of Jed's old ladies were passed out on a piss-stained mattress by the time they got there this evening. The crash from the meth high was enough to turn the man into a zombie. He willfully got in DJ's car and headed to the Bog with them. At the moment, Jim Brown was in the process of rudely awakening him.

"Please," the man groaned after another shot to the sternum. "You're making a big mistake, the both of you."

Jim Brown spat on the wood floor. The Coleman lantern sitting on a rickety table provided the house's only light source, casting long shadows across Jim Brown and Howard. DJ stood close by, his arms crossed and pretending the man hadn't said a damn thing.

"I know you both think you're good little soldiers," Howard said. "But whoever you're working for is in a world of hurt be--"

A brass knuckle covered fist caught Howard flush and nearly knocked the chair over. He screamed in pain and Jim Brown held his right fist in his right hand.

"Goddamn, I think I almost broke my own hand on that one!"

Just then, light flashed across a broken window. DJ looked out, one hand reaching for the pistol in the small of his back. He stopped when he recognized Jed's SUV. He got out of the driver's seat with a passenger. DJ swore to himself when he saw Scott Andrews sauntering up the warped steps. 

For over ten years Scott Andrews had been Danny Johnson's partner in the sheriff's department two-man CID section. They hadn't exactly been best friends, but the then Lieutenant Andrews was an occasional dinner guest at the Johnson house. DJ didn't know Andrews was Billy's man until after he went to work for Billy. Despite all the loose talk around the town and the county at large, nobody at the sheriff's department had a good idea of how deep Scott was in. The few times they were in the same room, they barely acknowledged each other. There was a Danny Johnson sized elephant in the room whenever they were together.

Jed came in first, Andrews right behind him. Jed flashed a grin when he saw Howard all beaten up.

"Sup?" 

Jim Brown gave him a shrug and slid off the brass knuckles. 

DJ said, "He ain't said a thing worth a damn since we got him here. Just the usual bullshit. For a methhead, he's got a lot of spunk."

He met eyes with Andrews through the dim light. Andrews gave DJ a swift nod before looking towards Jed.

"What did he do so bad that Billy wants him dead?" Andrews asked.

"Dead?" Howard started shaking his head. "No, no, no, no!"

Jed cross the space between him and Howard in just two or three strides. He backhanded the man and sent his head spinning.

"You speak when you are spoken to," Jed hissed. "You violated the one and only commandment in this fucking county: Thou shalt not steal from Billy Brown."

Jed cooly pulled a compact .38 pistol from his waistband. Howard thrashed his head and laughed wildly.

"You dumb motherfuckers! You're all gonna fucking pay! You think my name is Howard Beggs? It's fucking Jerry Miller. Special Agent Jerry Miller."

Beggs -- or Miller -- spat and hit Jed in the face with a wad of spit.

"I'm a goddamn SLED agent, you assholes. You touch me you--"

The roar of Jed's gun cut him off. In a rage, Jed fired three shots into Beggs' face. The shots knocked the dying man's chair onto the ground and sprawled Begg's bleeding body on the hardwood floor.

"Goddammit," Andrews said, pulling his gun and aiming at Jed.

On cue, DJ and Jim Brown pulled and aimed at Andrews just as Jed leveled his own gun at Andrews. 

"Why'd you do that," Andrews yelled at Jed. "That motherfucker--"

"Was a fiend," Jed yelled back. "And was saying anything that popped into his head. He was bullshitting you, man!"

Andrews holstered his gun and cursed. "I cannot be here, you hear me?! That's me saying this to all three of you. I cannot have fucking been here."

DJ stepped forward to try and get involved. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jim Brown on a flip phone. He put his gun up and tried to make as much distance from Jed and Andrews' fighting as possible.

"Georgie?" Jim Brown asked. "It's me... that guy you said John Norman came around asking about, you said his name was Beggs right? What did Norman want him for?"