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Back Atlanta Burns Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication Page
  4. CONTENTS
  5. PART ONE: SHOTGUN GRAVY
  6. Sometimes she wakes…
  7. CHAPTER ONE
  8. CHAPTER TWO
  9. CHAPTER THREE
  10. CHAPTER FOUR
  11. CHAPTER FIVE
  12. CHAPTER SIX
  13. CHAPTER SEVEN
  14. CHAPTER EIGHT
  15. CHAPTER NINE
  16. CHAPTER TEN
  17. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  18. PART TWO: BAIT DOG
  19. CHAPTER TWELVE
  20. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  21. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  23. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  25. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  26. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY
  28. PART THREE: THE FARM
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. PART FOUR: KISSING FIRE
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  43. PART FIVE: BAIT GIRL
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  48. EPILOGUE: THE MESSAGE
  49. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  50. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“You do today. Go on, light one up. Get it good and cherry.” She lets the gun barrel drift toward him, though not at him, not yet. “Then put that cigarette out on your hand.”

“What? Fuck you.”

She cocks the hammer of the .410. Still doesn’t point it at him. “Did you know, when you shoot the sack off a wannabe pedophile rapist, you gain a certain reputation? People know you ain’t fooling around all of a sudden. Gets their attention. Do I have your attention, Bill?”

He says nothing. “Light up,” she says.

With an unsteady hand he taps a cigarette out. Tries to screw it between his lips but drops it. He goes to grab it off the ground, but she tells him to just get another. He does. This time, he gets it between his lips, tries flicking the red plastic piece-of-shit dime-store lighter. It takes a few times to get a flame going, but then, just in time, it does.

He lights up, as commanded.

He inhales. Blows smoke.

“Looks like you smoke just fine,” she says.

“I quit ten years back.”

“Well, you can quit again in a couple minutes. A few more puffs. Go on.”

Puff, puff, puff. The cherry glows atomic. The smoke stings her eyes.

“Now put it out on your hand.”

“Which hand?”

“I don’t give a shit. Just do it and stop jawing at me.”

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, holds it like he’s ready to stub it out in an ashtray, or like a tiny spear with which you might nab a minnow. Bill Coyne winces, but she points the shotgun toward him, toward his crotch, and scowls.

Bill Coyne presses the cancer stick against his hand. His left. She can hear the hissing. Can smell the burn.

He cries out but chokes it back. Closes his eyes and stomps his foot. Whimpers.

When he opens his eyes again, she’s already walking away.

PART TWO: BAIT DOG

PART TWO: BAIT DOG

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

On the north side of town, not far from the park and the water tower, away from all the homes of the wealthy, a pear tree sits on Gallows Hill overlooking much of Maker’s Bell.

Given that it’s springtime, the pear tree is in bloom.

It’s there that a couple middle-school kids go to smoke a joint five weeks later, and there that they find Chris Coyne, in a sweater-vest and a pair of Yves Saint Laurent jeans, hanging by his neck, dead.