by Hunt, Jack
“No, I’m good.” Alex walked on, tucking his hands into his pockets, but the truck veered around the parking lot and rolled up beside him. This time the old man hollered out the passenger window.
“Is that why you’re checking out cars?”
Alex glanced at him as the truck stopped. “Look, you’re not the first. People are scared. Some don’t have the means of getting out. We’ve had a few break-ins. That’s why officers are patrolling. If I spotted you, you’re damn sure they will.”
He stared back at him, unsure whether to keep walking or listen.
“I can help you out.”
“I need more than a ride; I need a vehicle.”
“Of course you do, and you’re not the first straggler I’ve found nosing around these lots. Except you won’t find what you need on this street unless of course you want a ride in the back of a cruiser.” He jerked his head north. “I run a junkyard not far from here. If you have cash, I might have something.”
“I don’t have much.”
“Doesn’t cost much,” he said.
“Why haven’t you told the police?”
“Demand and supply, my friend.” He smiled as he pointed to the businesses. “Food, medicine, guns and transportation. It’s all in high demand. Everyone has to earn a buck. That’s why these stores are open. Never been a better time to do business. So… what’s it gonna be?”
“My friends are waiting. I should get them.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Not enough room. You’ll be back in no time. Hop in.”
He leaned over and popped the door.
Alex glanced down the road, it was a fair distance and well, the guy looked harmless enough, besides he was armed if he tried anything. A moment of hesitation, then he saw the cop car pulling out of the parking lot back onto Main Street. Alex got in.
“The name’s Bill,” he said, offering him a hand.
He shook it.
“Alex.”
The truck veered out and headed north. “So Alex. Where you from?” he asked as he lit a smoke. The inside of his tuck was grimy. Crumpled coffee cups on the floor, fast food bags, muddied receipts and a set of cables. It smelled of grease. Alex looked at Bill’s fingertips and noted the common sight of black under his nails that often came from working on cars. He was wearing a heavy plaid shirt, the kind worn by construction workers, and he had this dirty-looking baseball cap on with letters that were worn off.
“Elizabeth City.”
“And what brings you this way?”
“My daughter.”
“Yeah, where’s she at?”
He wasn’t going to say California. In that moment he didn’t feel comfortable so he lied. “Kansas City.”
“Ummm,” he muttered as he sucked on the cigarette like it was the best damn thing he’d tasted. Bill blew gray smoke out the window and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they wound around the road farther out, then veered right onto Critter Trail. They drove past an animal hospital and kept going until they were deep in a forested area. Alex looked over his shoulder and then ahead.
“Shouldn’t there be signs for the junkyard?”
“Oh it’s not here. I have to get the keys for the gate. This is my home. Can’t keep the junkyard unlocked or everyone and his uncle would be driving out of there with a used car.”
He nodded as they curled around and came up a driveway to a two-story home nestled among the trees. It was quite something, modern, certainly more upscale than he imagined an old-timer running a junkyard would own.
“How long you been living here?”
“Oh not long. The wife wanted to build. You married, Alex?”
“Yeah. I mean, we’re kind of going through a divorce, at least we were when all this kicked off.”
“She with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t be easy.”
“It’s not.”
The truck stopped and he got out. “C’mon in, have a beer.”
Alex remained in the vehicle. “No, I appreciate that but I really have to get going.”
“Don’t be rude, I’m helping you out here. Come, meet the wife,” he said slamming the door and strolling toward the home. Alex sat there for a moment feeling a little uneasy but what would a couple of extra minutes matter?
He got out and surveyed the surrounding woodland, and noticed a smaller one-story house. It was more of a cottage than anything else.
“Who lives there?”
“In-laws. At least when they show up.” Bill let himself into the home and called out to his wife, “Marge. We have a guest.”
Alex stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
It smelled clean, flowery even.
“Don’t worry about your boots, Alex. Come on in.”
Bill wandered into a kitchen at the far end of the hall as Alex made his way down. As he walked forward he glanced at the photos on the walls. A young family, son, maybe grandchildren? As he got closer to the kitchen, he caught something out the corner of his eye. It was on the door frame, a smear of blood.
Before he could react, he felt something hard press into his upper back.
“That’s it. Keep your hands where we can see them.”
His jacket lifted and his handgun was removed, and someone patted him down before he was shoved forward into the kitchen. Upon entering, his stomach sank. Seated on one side of a round table holding a sandwich in his hand was Cowboy.
He took a big bite and chewed it enthusiastically. “Mmm. Mmm.” He jabbed the sandwich at him. “That is good. The peanut butter sandwich is the most underrated sandwich. Don’t you think?” He chewed again. “It’s so simple. Bread and peanuts. I mean who would think that would work but it does.” He tapped the air with it. “But you know the sad part, so few today will ever truly get to appreciate it because now we have allergies. Bill, you ever remember kids being told they couldn’t bring peanut butter sandwiches into school?”
“I don’t believe I do, Cowboy,” he said as he leaned against the counter staring at Alex.
“Neither do I. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What are they putting in our water that is making so many people allergic to this classic sandwich? Damn shame. Damn shame!” He popped the remainder in his mouth and his chair screeched as he got up and came around still chewing.
“I see you’ve met my friend Bill here.” He sniffed hard. “Bill and I go way back. At least him and my mother did. Isn’t that right, Bill?”
He gave a nod as Cowboy kept looking Alex up and down.
“So you’re Alex. You know, I really liked those Jeeps.”
Alex took a fist to the stomach. He curled over, trying to catch his breath before getting another strike to his kidney which put him on the ground. He raised his eyes at Bill as Cowboy got down in front of him and pointed two fingers at his eyes and then back at himself. “Hey. Hey. Up here. Don’t look at him. He’s not going to help you.”
“You lying bastard,” Alex said.
That was the wrong thing to say. Cowboy struck him again, this time a right hook to the face. His head bounced off the vinyl. Cowboy straightened up and walked around the kitchen with all the swagger of a king surveying his kingdom. “Hell of a place this is. Pity the owners weren’t welcoming.” He turned back to Alex as Raven walked into the room and Alex eyed her. A frown formed on his brow. Raven looked ashamed. “By now you’re probably thinking, oh shit, I really shouldn’t have been so trusting. It’s hard when you’re at the bottom of the totem pole and you have a dead weight like Thomas.” He dropped down again, elbows resting on his knees as he grinned. “Believe me I know. Fun fact, Thomas used to be part of our crew. That’s right. He was a contributing member. Very valuable until he got a little too big for his britches. They all do. I mean, he’s not alone. Everyone wants to carry the mantle but few can. It takes a unique person to lead a group, don’t you think, Alex?” He paused and cocked his head sideways to look him in the eye.
“Decisions. Responsibilities. It’s not for the faint of heart. But, every now and again someone like Thomas steps up to the plate and takes a shot.” He sucked air between his teeth. “I admire it. I really do. But here’s the thing…” He ran a hand over his stubble. “There can only be one king!”
And with that he fired a shot to Alex’s jaw so hard it knocked him out cold.
33
Panic set in. Alex should have been back by now. Thomas sat on a dead log picking at moss with his legs straight in front of him. Ryan chewed on the corner of his finger, leaning against a tree while Sophie paced, eyes roaming the street, looking for any sign of him. “I’m going to look for him.”
“No, you heard what he said. We stay here,” Ryan replied.
“You stay. I’m going,” she shot back.
Thomas bounced up and hurried ahead of her, putting his hands out.
“Whoa, whoa. Hold on, lady. So, you’re just going to walk out there with a rifle in hand? The cops will arrest you before you even get two blocks.”
She looked at it. “I wasn’t planning on it. Ryan. Here.”
“Uh. Hold on. That’s even worse. It’s mine,” Thomas said.
Ryan walked over and took it from her. “I’ll keep a good on eye on it, and him. But here, take this, you might need it.”
He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and handed it to her.
She looked at it and wanted to say something but didn’t.
Thomas grumbled as Sophie took off and Ryan nudged him back into the tree line.
“Where the hell are you?” she muttered as she walked up Main Street, eyes shifting across the street. Sophie looked in the windows of businesses that were open and got a few glares from owners. Continuing on, a cop car rolled past and hung a left into the police station. What was she doing? How had it come to this? She still had the papers. He’d made it clear he was going his separate way. Why risk her own life? Questions continued to bombard her mind. What if he found a vehicle and left? That could be it. He’d left. He was gone and probably miles away. That would be just like him. A way to get back at her, and Ryan. It didn’t take long to begin to believe the story she was chewing over in her head. She was about to turn back when she recognized a dark-haired woman, it was the same girl that was with Cowboy that night.
Sophie ducked into the nearest shop which turned out to be a pottery store. Why it was open was anyone’s guess. Sure, groceries and pharmacies were in high demand, but did these people honestly think someone would be in the right frame of mind to buy pottery? At a time like this? The bell let out a shrill as she backed in, and then stood by the window looking out. Across the street, the girl hurried toward a parking lot where the black truck was. She squinted. Was Alex in there? She couldn’t tell because the truck’s windows were tinted.
“Can I help you?” a lady asked.
Sophie turned to find the clerk behind a counter.
“Just browsing. Thanks.”
Looking back she noticed two guys get out of the black truck and double-time it down the street. One of them adjusted his jacket to hide a handgun stuffed into the back of his pants. The girl got into the truck and closed the door but remained there. Where were they going? Were they heading south, toward where Ryan and Thomas were?
“Ma’am. Are you interested in anything?”
“What?” Sophie asked turning, her mind distracted.
“Interested in anything?”
“Yeah, why the hell are you open?”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Because we have to make money.”
“And you honestly think people need pots right now?” she said holding one up. “You have no idea what’s happening, do you?”
The clerk crossed the room as Sophie put the pot down. She could tell she’d overstayed her welcome. She exited and dashed across the street only stopping momentarily for a vehicle that shot by. With so little wrong with the town, no wonder they were acting as if it was business as usual. Farther down the street the men continued on as she made her way over to the lot, approaching the truck from behind. Was Alex in there? Her heart beat like a drum as she reached into her pocket and took out the switchblade and nudged the button.
The blade shot out.
The truck idled, a gentle rumble, exhaust fumes rising as she got closer. Several vehicles away, she gave one final scan of the lot before darting up the side and pulling the door open and jabbing the tip of the knife into the girl’s rib cage. The girl had no time to process it. “Move over!” She was operating on pure adrenaline, her stomach in knots. It felt so out of character for her but she was running out of patience. The first thing she did was look into the back cabin. He wasn’t there.
Sophie gave her a shove as she got in.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“They’re coming back.”
She pressed the tip of the knife harder into her ribs. “Where?”
“At a home a few miles from here.” She smiled. “But you’re too late, bitch.”
Shifting from the driver’s seat over to the passenger side, Sophie rammed the girl’s head against the window, Sophie brought the knife up to her throat. “Give me an address!”
“Fuck you.”
Grabbing a handful of hair, she yanked and slammed her head into the window.
“I’m all out of patience. Give me an address!”
“All right. All right. Just put the knife down.”
Bringing a hand up in defense, the girl shifted gears. In a flash, she batted the knife away and screamed as she unleashed a violent attack, grabbing Sophie and slamming her into the dashboard. The knife dropped to the floor as they waged an all-out war with fists, nails, and hair pulling. The girl tried to get out the passenger side and scream. But Sophie wasn’t having any of it. She hauled her back in and bit down onto her exposed shoulder before slamming her face into the dashboard.
The girl stopped moving.
Sophie took a moment to catch her breath.
She winched in pain.
The skin on the side of her neck was red and torn up by the girl’s long fingernails, and she could feel the side of her eye swelling. As Sophie went to move into the driver’s seat, the girl came to life. Whether she was unconscious or faking it, she came at Sophie again, this time with the switchblade in hand. “Argghhh!”
Had she not caught the movement out the corner of her eye, she would have been dead, but instead, she grasped the girl’s forearm, the tip of the knife inches away from her body, then twisted up.
With the girl using her body weight as leverage, and Sophie now clamped on to her wrist, it was simple physics. As the girl fell forward, Sophie pushed her wrist back and the knife went into her chest.
Her mouth widened.
Eyes full of shock.
Not even a whisper escaped her lips.
Sophie looked on in horror as the life left her eyes.
She pushed her limp body back and stared for a second or two, unable to believe what she’d done. Her entire life had been spent saving lives, not taking them, but here she was — dead. Excuses came to mind. It was self-defense. She had no other choice. She didn’t plan on killing her. She’d hoped to get the address, to find Alex but… fear soon turned to panic as she looked out wondering who’d seen, who had heard, and who might have gone to get the cops.
Wasting no time, she got out and went around, dragged the girl toward the rear of the truck and left her in the tall grass. She got back in, wiped the blood from her hands on the seat, then peeled out, turning onto Main and heading back south to where Ryan was.
The men must have been looking for them as they were on the other side of the street when they saw her. She drove the accelerator to the floor and gunned it out of there, only stopping at the edge of the road a mile down to call out to Ryan and Thomas.
As they darted out of the tree line, her thoughts circled back to Alex.
You’re too late, the girl’s words echoed in her mind.
Was she
?
34
California
Gunfights were never long, even though Hollywood dramatized them, and portrayed drawn-out battles. In actuality, shootouts were rarely like that. They were dirty and messy, and sudden — and people didn’t always die with the first, second or fourth bullet.
The reality was far less titillating.
Lives were lost on both sides that morning but when the smoke cleared, the Norteños came out the clear winner.
It wasn’t the fact that they outnumbered La Primera approximately five to one, it was the element of surprise — they weren’t expecting it.
Still, it probably helped that half of Carlos’ crew were out on the streets when they hit Hopper’s Tavern. They had struck from multiple sides, taking out the doormen first, and entering through the rear, the front and an emergency exit that was propped open. They couldn’t afford to get into a negotiation situation. Even as Garcia stepped over another body riddled with rounds he had already accepted that he might find Elisha dead.
Gangs were notorious for murdering people, then using the dead as a bargaining chip only to lure another to their death.
As he stepped inside the tavern, and scanned the room, it was in complete disarray. Tables turned, chairs on their sides, walls peppered with rounds, bodies everywhere. He found Carlos behind the bar on an alcohol-soaked floor, surrounded by shattered bottles. He was slumped against a shelf with blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. He had a glassy look to his eyes. Marco had instructed his men to wound Carlos, keep him alive.
As Carlos tried to talk, more blood streamed down his chin. “Norteños?” He chuckled, realizing the irony. He motioned for Garcia to come close. As Garcia crouched beside him, Carlos managed to summon a few final words. “You’re not the only one with connections. This isn’t over.” He coughed again. “It’s just begun.”
