A Violent Gospel
A VIOLENT GOSPEL
Mark Westmoreland
PRAISE FOR A VIOLENT GOSPEL
“Let me be the first to sing A Violent Gospel’s praises. Mark Westmoreland’s debut is the literary equivalent of The Dukes of Hazzard driving onto the set of Elmore Leonard’s Justified. This book is filled with folks who know right from wrong but don’t like boring.”—David Tromblay, author of As You Were and Sangre Road
“Mark Westmoreland’s A Violent Gospel is a down-n-dirty, rough-n-tumble romp where no punches are pulled, and Old Testament justice is the law of the land.”—Steph Post, author of Lightwood and Miraculum
“In A Violent Gospel Mark Westmoreland stakes his claim as a powerful voice in the Neo-Southern Gothic Movement. Equal parts Flannery O’Connor, Harry Crews with a smidge of Gator era Burt Reynolds, A Violent Gospel is a visceral slice of existential cornbread.”—S.A. Cosby, author of Razorblade Tears and Blacktop Wasteland
“This book is rural crime fiction at its best. A bullet read that gets right down to the dark and dirty point. Westmoreland’s ability to play in the gray area between darkness and light is spot on word candy that is perfectly suited to the title of A Violent Gospel. Look out for this guy. He’s going to listed with Daniel Woodrell and Tom Franklin in no time.”—Brian Panowich, author of Hard Cash Valley and Bull Mountain
“A Violent Gospel is one rollicking old testament ass whoopin’ of a debut. Westmoreland is an exciting new voice in southern noir, delivering 100 Proof Hellbilly Pulp and I can’t wait for more.”—Peter Farris, author of Last Call for the Living and Clay Eaters
Copyright © 2021 by Mark Westmoreland
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
A Violent Gospel
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Preview from Blood Like Rain by Albert Tucher
Preview from Northern eX by Colin Campbell
Preview from Stalker Stalked by Lee Matthew Goldberg
For Dawn,
You make all the words worth it.
And from the days of John the Baptist until now
the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence,
and the violent take it by force.
—Matthew 11:12 (KJV)
PART ONE
Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves
Brining in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves
1.
Rusted strands of barbed wire were the only obstacles keeping us from sneaking onto the Lewellen property. The cords had gotten weathered by the elements and hung limp in the fence posts, so they pulled up easy when I grabbed them. Marshall dropped to the ground and crawled on his belly the way an infantryman does on the battlefield. Once he got to the other side, he dusted himself off, took the fencing from me, and I snaked my way through. If Harper Lewellen caught us trespassing, he’d get mad enough to shit bullet holes through us.
It wasn’t my idea to sneak onto old Harp’s property. He’d hated me ever since I was a kid in high school. Harper caught me finger-banging his daughter one time and told me he’d shoot me if he ever saw my face again. Up to this point, I’d steered clear of him and any gun he’d aim in my direction. But Marshall told me there was something I needed to see and pestered the devil out of me until I agreed to come.
It was the dead of night, and we’d counted on there being enough moonlight to see in the dark. I’d told Marshall there wasn’t no way I was sneaking around Harp’s with a flashlight. The only problem is I didn’t consider the forecast, and with it being partly cloudy, it obscured what light we could see by. After it started drizzling some, we scooted through the woods like a pair of coon dogs tracking a scent.
Marshall slowed when we reached the edge of the tree line and found a kudzu strangled hickory stump to hide behind. I camouflaged myself behind the tree next to him and waited for him to signal what to do next. Marshall was down on one knee, peering over the stump’s jagged lip. I didn’t know what my brother was looking for, but I was on the scope out for any Lewellen who might be stirring. It wasn’t an easy task with it being well past dusk and the lack of moonlight, but I wasn’t saying nothing to Marshall. He’d already given me two earfuls of shit about bringing no flashlights.
Marshall whistled to get my attention and pointed where he wanted us to go. I looked past Harper’s two-story home, the double-wide his mama lived in, and way out to a sheet metal building. Before Harp caught me two knuckles deep inside Andy, she’d snuck me inside that shop a couple of times. It’s where her deddy liked spending his time drinking, watching Georgia games, and rebuilding classic cars. It was that man’s sanctuary, and if we got caught inside there, we’d get shot on sight.
I looked back over at Marshall and shook my head. He’d come off his heels to make a run for the building and almost fell over trying to stop. He threw his hands out to the side and mouthed something at me, even though he knew I couldn’t read lips, especially in the damn dark. I threw a thumb over my shoulder to let him know I thought we should head back. Marshall wasn’t having it. I knew he thought we’d come too far to turn back now, and he did the one thing I hoped he wouldn’t by taking off on in a flat sprint and hauling ass for the building.
Against my better judgment, I chased Marshall’s bootheels and could hardly breathe when we reached the shop. Marshall was barely winded and led me around the side to the only door there was. He pulled it open to step inside before I had the chance to ask him if he was crazy. I didn’t bother asking myself the same because I already knew the answer.
I held the door open while Marshall looked for something we could use to prop it open. What we needed to do is find a light switch, but I wasn’t going to waste a word telling Marshall so. We’d made a rule not to speak unless it was necessary and telling him something he already knew didn’t qualify. Marshall appeared from the darkness like some horror movie slasher carrying one of Harp’s tool bags he laid at the corner of the door. It moved a couple of inches when I let it go but held it, and I left the doorway.
The few times Andy brought me in here, I never paid attention to the layout of the building. She knew exactly where to lead me, and it was to her deddy’s fridge for a couple of beers. We’d sit inside one of the cars he was working on, drink our cold ones, and have a backseat rodeo. I felt along the wall until my hand ran over a switch, and I flipped it. Nothing happened at first, but once the lights started buzzing, the inside of that shop lit up like the Tugalo County Titans were fixing to take the field for Friday Night Lights.
My eyes took a second to adjust, and I rubbed away the spots clouding my vision. Marshall waved for me to follow him and led me to a back corner of the building with bare walls and no tool cabinets. A steel door was sunk into the floor, and I wondered why Andy had never shown me this. Marshall dropped to a knee, lifted the door, and it opened without a squeak. Its hinges locked in place, and Marshall waved for me to follow before he dropped inside.
Marshall whistled when I didn’t follow him right away and stuck his head out to see what I waited for. I didn’t like the idea of not being able to keep an eye on the door. If anybody came inside, we’d be trapped with nowhere to go. But with the way Marshall looked at me, I knew there’d be no talking him out of it. We were always bent on making a series of bad decisions anyway. This wasn’t no worse than some other shit we’d gotten into. Without much more thought, I followed my brother down into the hole.
2.
When my bootheels met the concrete, Marshall pulled the string on an overhead light. A single bulb lit the space enough my eyes didn’t have to strain to see we were in some kind of storm shelter. I didn’t know what kind of storms Harp planned on taking refuge from in north Georgia. The only tornadoes Tugalo County ever got happened while I was still wetting myself, and my only memories were of what Mama told me about them. It looked like the same thought occurred to Harper, and he turned the shelter into a bunker.
I’d never taken old Harp to be a prepper of any sort, but there were shelves lined with canned goods, emergency food rations, and store boxes of ammunition. A third World War could get started with all the firepower kept down here, but the guns were getting stored somewhere else, and aluminum storage cabinets filled the remaining wall space.
Marshall noticed me staring at the cabinets lined along the wall and put a hand on my shoulder to get my attention—then got down on a knee beside me. The doors for the cabinets were closed with a hasp—and a padlock dangled dummy locked. There wouldn’t be no better time for us to leave than right now, but Marshall never got this excited unless it was on a football field. He clamped down on my shoulder, and his eyes sparkled the way they did whenever he saw some tail at the bar he wanted to grind against.
Marshall spoke for the first time all night. “This shit’s fixing to get real wild, Coy. You won’t never believe what old Lew’s been keeping down here.”
“I don’t know if I wanna get involved in anything wild, Marshall. Looks like Harp’s been getting ready for the end of the world.”
“Don’t be a pussy. He’s been getting ready for more than that. Wait ’til you see.”
Marshall removed one of the locks from its hasp, dropped it on the floor, and gave me one of his troublemaker smiles. Instead of jerking the door open like I thought he would, he teased it open real slow. Cash fell out in big piles at his feet, and before the door opened all the way, it was ankle-deep. Every shelf was lined with thick stacks of banded cash.
“Oh shit.”
Marshall whooped, took a stack from one of the shelves, and fanned the money like some frat boy passing out singles at the Tattletale Lounge. He counted out one hundred dollar bills, let them drop to the floor, and said, “Goddamn, Coy, we’re fixing to be rich.”
I picked up one of the bills and held it up to the light. My mind might have been playing tricks on me, but I thought I saw Ben Franklin wink at me. I snatched the rest of the money from the floor and returned it to the cabinet.
“How’d you know all this was down here?” I asked Marshall.
“It’s a long story, Coy.”
“Tell it quick then.”
“Wouldn’t you rather take the money first?”
I’d never spent much of my life turning away free money, especially when it was getting served to me in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, but I said, “I don’t know if I wanna touch it.”
“And why the hell not?” Marshall asked.
“Because you know as well as I do that Harper ain’t never been nothing but country rich. He ain’t never had money like this and wouldn’t do nothing illegal to get it—”
“What’re you trying to say?”
“He might be tied up in a situation we don’t wanna get involved in.”
“Well, how the hell will anybody know we took some money, Coy? There’s three cabinets full here. The little bit the two of us can carry out won’t even make a dent in what’s left. If anybody does get suspicious about some money missing, it’ll be Harper that gets the blame. Not us.”
One thing I can say is that my little brother has always been able to make a hell of an argument. Enough so that we caused more trouble than we solved. Marshall’s words got me thinking now, and he saw how he got to me.
“Why don’t you stand there and think about it while I set aside some cash? When you’re done thinking you can help me carry it out.”
Marshall felt around his pockets like he was playing a game of pocket pool. “Fuck, you know what? I forgot to bring any trash bags. You did so much bitching about us not bringing flashlights I didn’t think about it.”
“Don’t blame that shit on me, Marshall.”
He waved off my words while he tried to think and said, “You think old Lew’s got any in this building of his?”
“We could empty out one of his tool bags.”
“You sure you don’t need to think about that some more, Coy?”
I gave my brother the finger and turned to pull myself out of the hole, but cold steel nudged me backward, and I looked up into the twin barrels of a shotgun.
“What’re y’all boys doing down here?”
3.
Andrea Lewellen looked down at me with the prettiest eyes. Her sandy-colored hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail like she’d never left her cheer squad behind, and she came to greet us in a thin robe that didn’t do much for modesty’s sake; and the way she stood above me let me enjoy the view. She caught the way I looked at her, stepped away from the edge of the hole, and aimed the shotgun at me like she remembered the day I boot-scooted all over her heart.
She switched her aim to Marshall when he stepped forward and said, “You better aim that gun somewhere else, girl.”
I put a hand out for my brother to know he needed to take a backseat on this one. If anybody was going to be behind the wheel now, it ought to be me. I could charm Andy into giving me the gun and didn’t think she had the sack to shoot me anyway. I might have broken her heart, but she was a resilient girl, and we recreated some memories the last time we spoke.
Marshall got the message, put his hands up, and stepped behind me. Andy let both barrels follow him and then let her aim settle back on my chest. I raised my hands to my shoulders and gave her a smile that always got her to let me push her doorbell. I guess the fog of sleep crossed her wires because her aim raised from my chest to my forehead.