Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

“What part of confidential informant is tripping you up?” I asked.

  “You’re not going to be in trouble for sharing information,” he said.

  I looked over at Laurel. They weren’t asking her questions anymore. She was just leaning against the other cop car and pouting.

  “Okay, I’m done. Are you arresting me for anything? If so, I’d like my lawyer. If you’re not, I’m going to need my wallet back and you’ll need to give Detective Kallen her keys.”

  “Whoa there.” The sheriff put up his hands in what I imagined was intended to be a placating manner. Instead it was patronizing.

  “Kallen,” I shouted. She looked up. “I’ve requested my lawyer or to be let go.”

  She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.” She pushed off the car and started to cross the gravel lot to me. The female sheriff got in her way. Laurel shot her a look and she moved.

  “Hey, you need to get back over there.” The deputy attempting to question me pointed Laurel back to the other car. She smirked and kept walking. “I said get back over there. I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on here and I do not appreciate some city cop acting like she has a right to my jurisdiction.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Laurel said.

  “That’s too fucking bad.”

  “No. You have no right to hold us here. Now, give me my badge, my weapons, and my keys.”

  “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t know how they do it in Sacramento, but up here we don’t shout and get what we want. You came into my county and tried to buy drugs.” His face started to turn blotchy and red. “I have no reason to believe that you’re here on official business. So you will calm the fuck down while we sort this out. Am I clear?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear anything you said after sweetheart.” Laurel held out her hand. “Badge, weapons, keys.”

  They probably would have come to blows if a shiny black SUV hadn’t turned up the drive. We all watched the vehicle approach. The SUV stopped. Dust from the road settled over the black paint. It looked foreign, as if the car had never been exposed to the outdoors before.

  The doors opened. Agent Michelson climbed out of the driver’s seat. His newest partner got out of the passenger side. The kid had that fresh out of Quantico look. Too much muscle and too much swagger. Both looked like they’d been developed in the last six months.

  “Evening, Sheriff.” Michelson held up his hand in a lazy wave. “Daniel Michelson, FBI.” He held up his wallet, badge out.

  “What the fuck?” the sheriff muttered.

  “This is my partner, Agent Orr.” Michelson nodded at his partner. The kid held up his badge. “Looks like we have a bit of a misunderstanding here.”

  “Misunderstanding?” The red on the deputy’s cheeks started to spread to his neck and ears.

  “Kallen, why don’t you and Braddock go ahead and tell Orr what happened. I’ll speak with Sheriff…” Michelson’s voice trailed off as he read the guy’s name badge. “Thibodeaux to get this cleared up.”

  Christ, no wonder I hadn’t retained his name.

  “Listen, buddy—”

  Michelson cut him off. “I’m looking forward to doing so.” He stepped between me and the sheriff.

  I skirted around them. Laurel took my elbow and led me to the shiny SUV. Agent Orr brought us to the rear of the vehicle. He opened the back door, rooted around, then handed us each a bottled water.

  “Thanks, Alec,” Laurel said.

  He grinned. “Least I could do. Seems like you’re having a shit day.”

  “How did you know to come out?”

  He shrugged. The stiff shoulders of his suit made him look like a cartoon. “Michelson got worried when you didn’t check in or respond to his calls. He activated the cameras in your truck and, well, here we are.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I’m Alec Orr, by the way.” Orr held out his hand to me. I shook it.

  “Cash Braddock.”

  “So you guys want to fill me in on what happened?”

  Laurel launched into the story. By the time she finished, Orr was struggling not to laugh.

  “You know, you could look less gleeful,” Laurel said.

  “I’m sorry.” Orr did not look sorry. “I just love when good ol’ boys try to handle you.”

  “Like you’re not a good ol’ boy.”

  “I’m not,” he said without any real conviction.

  “Kallen.” We turned to find Michelson holding Laurel’s keys and both our wallets.

  Laurel sighed in relief. “Thanks.” She pocketed her wallet and keys and handed my wallet over.

  Behind Michelson, the sheriffs climbed back into their cars. The slamming doors echoed off the barn and out to the tree line.

  “Walk with me.” Michelson nodded toward the middle of the lot. Laurel followed him. As they walked, he handed her the weapons the deputies had confiscated. She paused to kneel and stow the smaller gun at her ankle.

  They chatted for a few minutes. Laurel’s body language was a strange mix of anger and levity. Eventually, they shook hands. Michelson returned to the monstrous SUV. Laurel nodded at me and I followed her back to her truck. We climbed in. Michelson waved us ahead of him. He stayed tight on our asses until we hit Marysville, then left us to fend for ourselves.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So do I get to know what the hell happened back there?” I asked once we were back on 70.

  “Which part?”

  “The part where sheriffs showed up and wanted to arrest us. What else?”

  “Oh. That. It’s actually funny. Or it would be if that sheriff wasn’t such an asshole.” Laurel unconsciously shifted her gun, like she was making sure it was back where it belonged. “A couple of months after that vet bought the practice, he had someone show up looking for ketamine. He sent them packing. A few weeks later, it happened again. So he called the cops.”

  “So Wickham was running a side hustle, but didn’t tell his customers when he retired?”

  “Basically, yeah. They haven’t found him to arrest him, but I don’t think they’re trying that hard.”

  “And now the new kid calls the sheriff every time someone comes looking to buy?” I asked.

  “Yep. They gave him a special direct number and everything. Sounds like they’ve made a couple of arrests.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ. And I don’t suppose Yuba County Sheriffs thought it was worth mentioning to Sac County or the local FBI office.”

  “That did not occur to them.” She pressed her lips into a thin, angry line.

  “And is it now on their radar?”

  Laurel shrugged. “I told Michelson we’d like any info he can dig up on local ketamine distribution, but I’m guessing Yuba won’t be too forthcoming with their intel.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s frustrating.”

  “I’ll get over it.” She shrugged.

  “Your perseverance is admirable.”

  Laurel just shook her head at me. We finished passing another cookie-cutter development and the traffic fell away. She leaned back and settled into the bench seat. The long shadows from the sunset cast dark lines in the shape of her silhouette against the painted metal door. In the setting sun, her fading summer tan was rich and warm.

  “Are we getting close?” Laurel asked.

  “I think we’re still like twenty, thirty miles out. I don’t know. You’re the one driving.”

  She looked at me in confusion. “From the pin?”

  “Huh?”

  “The pin I had you drop. The truck.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. Loudly. “That’s fine. We can stop.”

  “Calm down. It won’t take that long.”

  “I was almost arrested today. For drugs, of all things. My reputation might never recover from those unfounded allegations.” I grabbed Laurel’s phone and pulled up the maps. “But it’s okay. I’ll pull through.”

  “Very disturbing allegations. I do hope you manage to overcome them.”

  �
�Thank you. Your kindness means the world.”

  “Cash.” She sounded irritated.

  “What?”

  “The pin?”

  I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. I believed she could feel the essence of my eye roll. “We’re three miles away.”

  “You’re not a great navigator.”

  “I never claimed I was a navigator, let alone a great one.”

  “You’re the passenger. It’s implied that you’ll navigate.”

  “Fine, but I thought I was navigating to Sac. You never mentioned any pit stops.”

  “I had you drop a pin. There was a whole discussion.”

  “And I was just supposed to deduce the pit stop from that?”

  She sighed forcefully. “Yeah.”

  “Your turn is coming up.” I pointed to the left.

  Laurel signaled and pulled into the dirt lot of a massive, closed up farm stand. It had clearly been shuttered for the season. On the other side of the lot was a smaller stand. It was open in back and didn’t have a roof. Basically, just a glorified counter. A teenager was sitting behind it, looking at his cell phone.

  “You see the truck?” Laurel nodded at a truck parked on the far edge of the lot. It was a big white Ford with a pale green panel running the length of it. The paint on the hood and along the bed were peeling, but overall it didn’t look bad. The back window had “For Sale $800” written on it. That price tag didn’t bode well.

  “That does look pretty cool. Andy would dig it.”

  “Let’s find out if it’s in decent shape.” Laurel climbed out and headed toward the open farm stand. I hustled to follow her.

  “How you two doing?” the kid at the counter called out.

  “All right. We’re actually interested in that truck over there.” Laurel pointed. “Any chance the owner is around?”

  “Oh, yeah. That was one of Mr. Copen’s. His son is selling them. I can grab him.” He pocketed the phone and half-jogged to the house.

  For a moment, I was concerned we were about to interrupt the poor guy’s dinner, but the kid went past the house to the backyard. A couple of minutes later, he came back with another guy. This one wasn’t much older than the farm stand kid, but where the kid’s T-shirt was baggy and his slim jeans bunched at his knees and sneakers, the older one’s shirt and pants looked painted on.

  “Hi there. I’m Brady.” He stuffed his hands in his tight pockets. “You ladies are interested in the F-150?” He nodded at the green truck.

  “Hey, I’m Laurel. This is Cash. And, yeah, we’re looking for a friend’s kid.”

  “Cool. Follow me.” Brady waved and walked backward toward the truck. “It’s an eighty-five. Starts up pretty easy. Has over four hundred thousand miles, but just about everything in the engine has been replaced at some point in the last thirty years.”

  We reached the truck. Brady hauled the door open. Look like it required a bit of effort, but not a prohibitive amount. Laurel climbed in.

  “Automatic,” she said. She touched various points of the dash and peered at the instrument panel.

  I quickly realized I had no clue what I was supposed to do. So I went to the back and opened the tailgate. It popped open easy. That was the extent of my car knowledge. I slammed it shut and went back toward the cab. Laurel and Brady had the hood open. They were poking around and making faces.

  “What are we checking out, exactly?” I asked.

  Laurel grinned at me. “I’m checking the condition of the engine. You can look over the body to see how much rust there is.”

  “The body is in decent shape, but there’s a fair amount of rust under the bed,” Brady said.

  I nodded and went to look at the underside of the bed. I crouched by the back tire and looked up. It was dark. Not surprising. I slid my phone out and turned on the flashlight. There was an impressive collection of spiderwebs in the wheel well. Beyond that, the bed had three rust spots that were at least a foot in diameter. That was probably bad. I stood, realized there was a spiderweb on my knuckles, and flung my hand around like a lunatic.

  “You okay there?” Laurel asked.

  I turned and she was smirking at me. “A spiderweb attacked me.”

  “Are you okay now?”

  “No. I’ll probably die.”

  “How’s the rust?” She indicated the bed with her chin.

  “There are a couple of big spots.” I held up my hands to indicate size. “Three about this big.”

  She frowned. “Hmm.” She took out her own phone and shined the light up. “Yeah.” She stood, shaking her head. “I think we’re going to have to pass.”

  “Damn.” Brady crossed his arms. “Can I ask what you’re looking for? I’ve actually got two others out back.”

  “It’s going to be a first car for a sixteen-year-old so we want safety first. Solid body, engine that won’t leave her stranded. If it needs some work, that’s okay. She needs to learn basics.”

  Brady nodded. “And same year approximately?”

  “Yeah. Early eighties is better. She wants the aesthetics of mine.” Laurel pointed at her truck. “But we’re not concerned about cosmetics.”

  “Okay, I might have what you’re looking for. It’s more expensive than the eighty-five, but it sounds like you’re okay with that.”

  Laurel looked at me and shrugged. “What do you think?”

  “It’s your call. I don’t know anything.”

  “Yeah, we’d love to take a look.”

  “Great. I’ve got it in the workshop out back.” Brady started walking down a path to the back of the house. “One of them is a ninety-four, F-250. Probably not that one. The other is an eighty-two. The engine was replaced eight years ago. Interior is a bit trashed, especially the upholstery.”

  As soon as the truck came into view, Laurel turned to look at me wide-eyed. We’d found the truck. For the sake of the excitement in her eyes, I hoped this one was in good condition. It had paneling like the other, but the truck was red.

  Laurel went right to the hood and looked at the engine. I peered in the dusty windows. The dash was a dull red. “A bit trashed” was a kind description for the bench seat. The fabric was coming off in strips. Upholstery poked up from the passenger side. I circled the truck. Paint was peeling at the wheel wells, hood, and roof. I couldn’t find any rust, though. I even looked underneath. The base of the bed looked like it was lined with slats of wood. Most of it was rotted out. It would look really cool with fresh, varnished wood. I wondered how easy that was to do.

  When the truck started up, it made me jump. It was loud. Also, I wasn’t expecting it to start. Laurel jumped out of the cab and went to look at the engine while it ran. She looked delighted. She needed better entertainment. After a couple of minutes, she turned the truck off. She climbed out and came toward me.

  “Find anything?” Laurel asked.

  I shook my head. “No rust. But I’m not sure what else to look for. Interior is torn up.”

  “I saw that.” She leaned in close even though Brady was clearly giving us space to talk. “The engine is fucking gorgeous. His dad replaced it, but then he barely drove it. Sounds like the dad died a few years back and Brady’s just now ready to sell. She runs great.”

  “Okay. That’s good. I think.” I realized I really had no idea if that was good. “It sounds good, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s good. There are a couple of small issues in the engine. But those will be cheap for a mechanic. Or I can help Andy.”

  “How much is he selling for?”

  “Twenty-one, but I think he wants her taken care of. I can talk him down.”

  “What about the seat and shit?”

  Laurel shrugged. “We’d probably order her a seat cover anyway. And the radio is AM/FM so she’ll want to update that. Interior is easy.”

  “Did you see in the bed?”

  “The wood?” she asked. I nodded. “Yeah, that’s just cosmetic. It’s not like she’ll be hauling shit. Not a big dea
l.”

  “Want me to call Robin?”

  “Yeah. You comfortable with me negotiating price?”

  “Totally. What am I going to say? It looks red?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You’re useless.”

  I could live with that. Laurel went back to Brady. I called Robin.

  Just when I was afraid she wouldn’t pick up, she did. “Hey, friend.”

  “Hey. Can Andy hear us?” I asked.

  “Probably. Give me a minute,” she said. The sound of the back door closing came through the phone. A minute later, another door. “Okay, we should be good.”

  “Laurel said you guys are looking for a truck for Andy?”

  “Yeah. I looked at another yesterday, but it was a bust.” There was a pause. “Oh, did you find one?”

  “Maybe? Laurel seems to think this is the one. All caps. The One.”

  “No way. Tell me about it.”

  “Umm, it’s red. With a thick white panel that runs the length of the truck.” I looked at the silver trim by the driver’s door. “It’s an F-100. Looks cool.”

  “How’s the engine? Did Laurel look at it? Are the seat belts in good condition?”

  “Laurel checked the engine. The owner said it was replaced eight years ago, I think. She seemed pretty stoked about it. Let me check seat belts.” I hauled the door open and pulled out the belt. It looked intact, unadulterated. I gave it a tug. How did one check seat belts? “I guess the seat belt is good.”

  “Manual or automatic?”

  “Manual? There’s a big gear shift in the floor.”

  “Manual, four speed,” Laurel shouted at me.

  “Laurel says four speed manual. I’m starting to understand why you didn’t mention this to me,” I said.

  Robin laughed. “It wasn’t a criticism. Just not your area of expertise.”

  “I’m going to take photos and text them to you, okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Just a minute.” I went back to the home screen so I could take photos of all four sides, one of the engine, the bench seat, and the dash. “Okay. Photos are sending. It’ll take a minute.”

  “Cash?” Laurel called.

  “Just a sec, Robin. Laurel’s talking to me.” I moved the phone away from my face. “Yeah?”