Gravy Patterson's Arc

Chapter 6 of 11

The warrant was still pinned to the post when Gravy heard a voice he knew too well. Past the fence, under a wooden pavilion with a red maple roof, Preston stood with his arms crossed. A small lantern-strung arch sat behind him on the grass, already lit. He'd set up shop just outside the yard, close enough that every man at the fire could see. The boys at the colorful stone ring turned one by one. The music had not come back on. Preston raised his voice just loud enough to carry. "Hah. So. Funny thing. County hits yards tonight, and yours got picked. Wonder who called that in." Gravy walked to the fence slow. Preston gave a small shrug built into his shoulders. "I kept the receipt, man. From the truck. Your name, my name, the inspection date. Hah. One more call and your little fire here is done." He tapped his jacket pocket. "That is it. That is the whole play." Gravy did not raise his voice. He looked at the lantern arch, the pavilion, the careful staging of it. Then he looked back at his own yard, at Derek by the fire, at the boys watching him fold once tonight already. He spoke plain. "You called Henry. Henry came. Henry left. There's nothing else for you to sell." He pulled the folded warrant off the post and held it up. "Already passed. Yard's clean. Call again. Waste another night." Preston's mouth opened. Closed. He looked at the boys. The boys looked back. One of them killed the silence by snapping the boombox on, low at first, then up. Preston grabbed the lantern arch by one post, dragged it a step, then let it go. He walked off without the rest of his setup. The pavilion sat empty behind him. Gravy turned back to the fire. The boys were watching him different now. Not folded. Standing. Derek caught his eye from the back ring and finally stood up, ready to talk. The warrant went into the pit. It curled black and gone.