“That’s exactly right. I have to go.” He leaned down, kissed her. “I’d rather stay.”
She believed him, and the belief warmed something inside her as he strode off the porch and around the house toward his car.
So tonight, the job sucked, Brooks thought, as he drove toward Tybal and Missy Crew’s. But he’d given this situation considerable thought since the last time Ty had drunk himself mean. Tonight, one way or another, Brooks intended to fix it.
* * *
Every window in the Crews’houseglowed up like Christmas, while neighbors gathered on the lawns as if the domestic disturbance qualified as a party. Ash kept them back from the house where bluegrass blasted through the wide-open door and the occasional crash rang out.
As Brooks got out of his car, Jill Harris—house on the left—walked over.
“Somebody’s got to go in there before he wrecks what’s left of that place.”
“Is Missy in there?”
“She ran out, barefoot, crying, her mouth bleeding. I can’t keep making these calls if nothing’s going to be done about it.”
“Will you file a complaint?”
“I have to live next door.” At five-foot-nothing, Jill folded her arms across her pink cardigan. “I tried talking to Missy about it once, while she sat in my kitchen holding a bag of my frozen peas to her black eye. She ended up calling me a dried-up old bitch who couldn’t mind her own business. Now she doesn’t speak to me. You think I want him banging on my door one drunken night?”
“All right, Ms.Harris. Come on, Ash.”
“Do you want to send someone out to find Missy?”
“No. She’s around here somewhere, or she hightailed it over to her sister’s. She knows we’ll respond.”
Part of him wondered if she’d come to enjoy the drama of it all, and he didn’t like the wondering.
“She’ll wait for us to haul him off,” Brooks continued, “then she’ll come back home, wait till morning to come tell us she slipped on the soap or some shit. I want you to stand by, but don’t talk to him. I don’t want you to say anything.”
“I can do that.”
Brooks didn’t have to knock, as Missy had left the door wide open when she fled. He stayed on the stoop, called out.
“I don’t know as he can hear,” Ash began.
“He’ll hear. We’re not going inside. We’re staying out here, where we’ve got better than a dozen witnesses.”
“To what?”
“To what happens next. Ty! You got company at the door.”
“I’m busy!” Brooks watched a lamp fly across the living room. “I’m redecorating.”
“I see that. Need a minute of your time.”
“Come on in, then. Join the fuckin’ party!”
“I come in there, I’m hauling you to jail. If you come out here, we’ll just have us a conversation.”
“Chrissake. Can’t a man get some chores done in his own home?” Ty stumbled to the door, big, glassy-eyed, blood pockmarking his face where Brooks assumed flying glass had nicked it. “Hey, there, Ash. Now, what can I do for you officers of the goddamn law tonight?”
“Looks like you’ve been sucking down that Rebel Yell pretty hard,” Brooks said, before Ash forgot himself and responded.
“No law against it. I’m in my own home sweet fucking home. I ain’t driving. I ain’t operating heavy machinery.” He cracked himself up, had to bend over and wheeze as the laugh took his breath away.
“Where’s Missy?”
