Free The Innocents by Ace Atkins Page A

it up right there in the space behind the Gas & Go and the path back to Nikki’s house. This had been their meeting spot since they were girls, sneaking out to drink flavored vodka, talk about boys, escape from their parents. Nikki used to escape out back regular when her parents got in fights. Milly recalling hearing the screaming and beating inside the house while Nikki pretended all was right in the world. If you don’t point out the shit, then it doesn’t happen. The Southern way.
    “You think I’m doing right?” Milly said.
    “What’s that?”
    “I want to get things straight before I get the hell out of here,” Milly said. “Today was the most humiliating day of my life. I tried to open up to some crazy woman who thought a woman’s goodies were a lockbox and then I had to give a lap dance to a sixty-year-old trucker from Meridian. He showed me pictures of his grandkids while I grinded in his lap. How fucked-up is that?”
    “Pretty fucked-up,” Nikki said, laughing. “Say. Pass that joint back to me. Where will you go?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What will you do?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “But you can’t stay here?”
    “Why would anyone want to stay here?”
    “Roots,” Nikki said. “You don’t want to grow ’em, but, damn, how they spread.”
    “You could come with me.”
    Nikki tried to let out the smoke cool and easy but started to giggle and it spewed from her nose. “I got a baby, a shit job, and two worthless parents to support,” she said. “Tell me how to get around that?”
    Just then, an old car painted a fresh metallic blue rolled up by the gas pumps. The windows were tinted, bass shaking the frame as it sat there, headlights lighting up the space where Milly and Nikki sat smoking the joint. The front license tag read HERE KITTY KITTY .
    “Nito,” Milly said.
    “Yep,” Nikki said. “Come on.”
    The passenger door opened and Ordeen Davis got out, smiling and pointing right at the girls. “What y’all doing, out here smoking it up in your nighties?”
    •   •   •
    I t was well past one and Vienna’s was closed. Fannie had done the countdown herself and stood tall on the catwalk, house lights on, staring down at the two stages around the golden poles, groupings of easy chairs, and the long wooden bar where two of the Born Losers sat drinking beer. Fannie was dog tired, sipping on a hot cup of coffee and knowing she had plenty more to do until she’d walk across the street and crash at the Golden Cherry.
    Mingo walked up the stairs and Fannie kicked a fattened canvas bag toward him. The skinny Indian nodded, hefted the cash under his arm, and walked back down to the main floor. The Born Losers saw it was coming and looked up to the catwalk to give a nod and a thumbs-up to Fannie. They’d ride the cash down to the coast together and be there before dawn.
    As she walked back to her office, her phone rang.
    “How’d it go?” a man’s voice said.
    Fannie read out the totals down to the last nickel.
    “Slow.”
    “Not the best,” Fannie said. “Not the worst.”
    “How were the girls?”
    “New girls did fine,” Fannie said, sitting at her desk and grinding the heel of her hand into her eye socket. “Picked up some local talent, too.”
    “Had any trouble with the law?” the man said.
    “Nope.” Fannie said. “Are you going to call like this every night? Because it doesn’t make the countdown go any faster.”
    “It’s what you agreed.”
    “Are you going to tell me your name?” Fannie said. “Maybe I can talk a little dirty to you.”
    “Would it matter?”
    “I guess not.”
    “You’re doing fine,” the man said. “We’re happy with the arrangement.”
    “I’m so fucking glad,” Fannie said. “But I still want a meet with Mr. White.”
    “I don’t know that name.”
    “Sure you do,” Fannie said. “He’s your goddamn boss. And he’s who set me up in this shithole of the year. You tell him I need a little face time. He can