by Gray Gardner
“That was the best that Honest Bill had to offer?” he grinned with sarcasm, pulling to a stop next to it. “Where’s the confederate flag that’s supposed to be painted on the top?”
“Exactly,” she smirked, jumping out and walking around to the opened window. She grabbed her black duffle and jumped back in with Hall.
“Nice bag, very feminine.”
“Your face is feminine,” she mumbled as he pulled back onto the road and headed to Oakwood.
He turned his head and smiled, watching as the small trailer homes scattered on the outskirts of town came into view. Then came the cookie cutter clapboard homes, then the larger homes spaced further apart, then the two-lane road that cut right through downtown, aptly named Main Street. Buildings two or three stories, situated closely together, with handsome concrete facades, and colorful awnings surrounded them, and right at the 1st Street intersection was Nixon’s filling station.
“Do you want to wait here, or go to Tizzy’s?” Hall asked, pulling into a parking spot. He really wanted her to come back to his place so he could keep an eye on her, but he knew she and Tizzy Smithy were good friends. At least she’d come back for her clothes and he could make sure she was okay then. Maybe he could even convince her to stay simply because of his ranch’s proximity to hers.
“I’ll walk to Tizzy’s. Her apartment building’s right there,” she replied, jumping out to the sidewalk with her bag. She turned and squinted back at him in the morning sun. What did one say in a situation as messed up as theirs? “Um, thanks. I mean, you were more hospitable than you had to be so… thank you.”
He frowned as she struggled with her gratitude. It was more than he ever thought he’d get out of her, and it threw him off. After all, he thought he’d given her a serious threat the night before. Admittedly, she was pretty adorable curled up by the open window in her room this morning in that tiny dress and her tomboy tennis shoes, or when she was frowning at him, or when he had her in his arms on his horse....
“Uh, sure, well… you can come by and get the rest of your stuff this afternoon,” he offered, finding himself looking forward to it. Figuring out what she would say next and watching her bubble with anger tempted him far more than he was comfortable with. She was a McCann, after all.
“Yeah. Um, thanks,” she nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear and flipping her bag over her shoulder. She looked at the ground and walked down the sidewalk, glancing back as he pulled away. Why was he so nice to her after being so mean the night before? He had to have some kind of agenda.
Other people in town had always been nice to her, even before the accident. Everyone loved the McCanns, and if they didn’t, they certainly never showed it. Going off to boarding school where no one knew her family, was an eye-opening experience for Case, but she learned very quickly to be self-sufficient. No I.O.U.’s if she was a dollar short at the grocery store, no letting her skirt by at R rated movies, no head nods and ‘How are you’s,’ from passers-by. Sure, there was a warm comfort of being home.
She couldn’t wait to see Tizzy’s cute apartment and meet her fun neighbors. Anything would be better than Halston Blackhill’s house.
Chapter Four
She approached the three-story white brick building and dragged her bag up the cracked, exposed staircase to room 205. The concrete breezeway and dirty white railing didn’t look quite as nice as she’d described, but Case didn’t want to judge. Her friend had a job, and was living on her own. Admirable.
It was only eight, so she was sure that Tizzy would still be home as she knocked.
“Casey!” the frizzy, frazzled blonde screeched, throwing her arms around her friend and yanking her inside. “I thought you were gonna get in yesterday!”
Case grabbed for the back of the brown couch but her hand slipped over a stack of magazines. She finally found her footing as Tizzy let go and stumbled around as she put her black pumps over her stockings with two runs in them. A burning cigarette hung out of her mouth. “You have no idea how worried I’ve been. I called out to your house and Jackson just wouldn’t pick up! He hasn’t gotten his mail, hasn’t paid the bills, hasn’t come to town to the grocery store, or to get gas, or—”
“Yeah, he’s not at the house,” Case interrupted, wondering what in the hell the foul smell coming from the tiny kitchen was. The living room was only big enough for a small couch and fifteen-inch television, and she couldn’t imagine Tizzy had much room for her in the bedroom. Maybe this was a bigger imposition than she’d thought. The dark shag carpet stuck to her tennis shoe as she tried to inch further into the dark apartment. No lamps.
“Nice dress,” Tizzy mocked, blowing smoke over her head. “Anyway, make yourself at home, couch is yours, I’ve got to go to work, but I’m home just after five. We’ll catch up with some wine coolers and a pizza!” Tizzy yelled, pulling her black suit jacket on and leaving the door open behind her as she left. In the sunlight, Case noticed her eyes had huge bags underneath. She must have been as worried about Jackson as she was. He’d been like a big brother to her, too.
Case turned and tripped over a stack of old pizza boxes as she waved and made her way to the wall mounted phone in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Oh!” she shrieked, covering mouth as she grabbed the white phone and ran back to the couch. The source of the smell was stacks of dirty dishes leaning to the side of the sink, oozing and corroding with food. She breathed in and out of her mouth as she quickly dialed the operator and asked for the police station. A large black burn covered half of one of the couch cushions so she decided to just stand by the front door.
“This is Sherriff Franks.”
“Um, hello, Sherriff, this is Case McCann.”
“What can I do for you today, Darlin’? It’s a busy week, got trucks coming in from all over transporting herds to the stockyards.”
“Sorry to bother you,” she said in a quieter voice, searching for the right way to word what she had to say next. “It’s just, um, my brother Jackson is like, missing and…well, honestly, my house looks like it was broken into.”
“Do you really want me to divulge Jackson’s list of offenses before I deny your request?”
Case swallowed and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and suddenly gagging on the stench from inside the dark apartment. She opened the half-closed front door and continued as she cradled the phone to her ear. A neighbor brushed by her in a stained wife beater, hacking up something then spitting it at her feet. “Uh, it’s just that Jackson hasn’t been answering my calls, and when I went home yesterday, the house had been ransacked…”
“I thought you were supposed to be up in Dallas doin’ some big internship.”
She rolled her eyes and twisted the phone cord around her fingers. Everyone knew everyone’s business in this tiny town. So why wasn’t anyone missing Jackson?
“Alright, look Sweetheart, I’ll send one of my deputies out for a drive by.”
“That would be great!” she grinned, pushing off the doorway. “Thank you very much, Sherriff.”
“Okay, Case, bye.”
She walked back in and hung the phone up just as three rats scurried past her in the kitchen and darted under the couch. Screeching and falling back against a chili and cheese crusted countertop, she quickly reassessed her situation.
“So you see, the Sherriff’s already got people on it. I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight,” Case forcefully smiled as she stood in front of the reception desk at the bank on Main Street. She almost believed the story herself.
“Wow, I couldn’t get Franks out there after five calls,” Tizzy replied, smacking on some gum and leaning over the counter. “You always did have an effect on people in this town.”
“I think they respond to courtesy and respect,” Case nodded, shifting her heavy duffle bag from one hand to the other.
“Yeah, whatever, and being a McCann and a cute girl has nothing to do with it,” Tizzy winked, grabbing the phone as it rang. “Call me when you know something.�
�
“Yeah!” Case waved over her shoulder, walking back out into the sunlight and towards the Post Office. They had the mail delivered to their house, but big packages were always detained at their post office box. She’d noticed a stack of slips in her house indicating that something was there, and she thought it might help her learn more about Jackson’s whereabouts.
“Glad to see you home, Case,” Monica smiled, handing over the heavy cardboard box that was the size of her suitcase. Monica had been somewhere around Townes and Joel’s grades, and Case was glad to see she managed the Post Office now. She liked seeing familiar faces everywhere. “See you later.”
“Bye!” she called, walking out awkwardly with her bag straps pulling down on her shoulder and the box balanced between her arm and hip. On to the Flag County Energy Company, Southwestern Bell, Oakwood Water Systems, and back to Nixon’s to get her crap rental car.
She shuffled down the sidewalk in the late morning shade of the buildings but had to stop every so often to rebalance herself. The perfectly nice customer service reps smiled sympathetically at the irresponsible little girl in front of them who’d faulted on her bills, and Case was relieved when she could quit fake smiling and showing fake gratitude. This was Jackson’s fault. She grinned graciously and waved as she got back out on the sidewalk from the sickly green tiled interior of the final government building, taking a deep breath of fresh, things-are-getting-back-on-track air.
Finally, when the box slipped out at Main and 4th Street, she had to drop her duffle and lean back in the cool shade of the cotton warehouse that dominated the corner.
“Is it really that hard for you to ask for help?”
Case leapt forward and opened her eyes, squinting as Halston Blackhill stood next to her on the sidewalk, looking more like the boys from her boarding school in his sunglasses and baseball hat, and less like the shitkickers from Oakwood in their tight Wranglers and felt Stetsons. He’d shed the white shirt and was in the somewhat form fitting Van Halen tee that looked like it had been worn a thousand times. His broad shoulders looked tense as he peered down at her.
“W-what,” she stuttered, shaking her head and holding out her hands. He’d surprised her. “You… were you following me?”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he grinned, holding his hands up and then gesturing at her bag. Lie. He was trying to keep her out of trouble. It seemed to follow her around like a shadow, though. “Things not work out with Tizzy?”
“Things didn’t work out with the health code,” she muttered, leaning down and grabbing the bag and the box resolutely. “Excuse me.”
He stepped to the side with a grin just as the box tumbled to the street and a car wheeled around the corner, two wheels off the ground, and full of teenagers. Hall grabbed her and all of her things and pulled her easily back onto the sidewalk, a panicked look on his face as his arm pinned her back to the faded red brick wall of the old building. He didn’t expect a thank you, but he also didn’t expect an indignant reaction either.
“God, go away!” she said through her teeth, looking right and left to scan for any witnesses. “People can’t see us together!” Secretly she didn’t care what anyone else thought… unless they called her brothers and told on her. That was her main concern.
“Right,” he nodded, not really paying attention as he examined the box on the ground. It was post marked from Mexico and addressed to J. McCann. “What’s in there?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped, leaning back against the cool brick wall of the building and looking around. “Leave!”
He knelt down and ripped the box open, standing and setting it on his leg as he propped his boot up on a cement barrier blocking the loading dock on his right. His eyes widened and he quickly folded the top shut, frowning down at her. Oh, this couldn’t be happening. If she even revealed an inkling of knowledge about this, he was going to drop the box off his knee and pull her over it.
“Did you know about this?”
“About what?” she asked, rolling her eyes and grabbing for the box. She stood on her toes and looked inside as Hall kept a firm grip on it. It appeared to be a couple of bricks of something wrapped in aluminum foil. And bags of ground coffee. She frowned and looked up at him. “What? Is that…”
“Of course it is!” he whispered harshly, pushing her back and leaning in very close to her. He glanced up and down the street and looked back down at her worried face. She ought to be more than worried. She ought to be terrified. “This much… whatever, being stamped and mailed… in your possession, is a felony!”
“What?” she shrieked, thinking of her perfect record, her perfect college application, her perfect resume. Her perfect future depended on all of those things. She stepped back from the box as if it would exonerate her. “But… no, open it, it can’t be what you think…”
“And what do you think, Case?” he grumbled, making sure no one was watching. “Think Jackson just got some clay figurines air mailed from Mexico?”
She pushed away even further and ran her fingers through her hair. What had Jackson done?
“Look, I know he’s your brother, but we need to get rid of this now,” Hall sighed, feeling slightly sympathetic as she imagined her older brother falling from his pedestal.
Case looked up him with a petrified face.
“I… I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, trying her hardest not to cry. Would she have to go to prison? Would whoever sent this try to kill Jackson? “Shouldn’t we… turn it in to the police or something?”
“No!” he replied, staring down at her incredulously. God, she really was that innocent.
Hall ran his hand across his face as he thought. He really hadn’t tried to follow Case all morning, but kept seeing her walking down the street with her bag, popping into the bank, and now lugging around her bag and a box. He had just wanted to help and now he knew she really needed it. What could they do?
Down 4th Street a few blocks, one of the deputies’ cars pulled into view, so thinking time was over. They had to act.
“We flush it!” he suggested, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him through the open door of the warehouse. They ran through old metal shelves and desks until they approached a brown door, sunlight streaming in from a high window, showing a tiny little man on the front.
Case watched over her shoulder as Hall frantically cut open each bag, pouring the contents in the grimy toilet and flushing, waiting, then doing it all over again. Case took the empty box and ripped at the postmark and the address tag, crumpling them up and tossing them into the toilet as well. They stood in silence as the last of the questionable white substance swilled out of their sight and the water settled.
Now they shared an important secret. It would follow them forever.
A door slammed somewhere, echoing all around them.
“Shit!” Case whispered, desperately looking up at Hall. She had no one else to turn to for help, and his toilet idea had been pretty good. Maybe he would forget that he hated her and had wanted to beat the crap out of her and help her one more time.
He grabbed her hand again and pulled her around to the tall metal shelves caked in dust and old equipment.
She looked back over her shoulder, then down at his hand holding hers. Why didn’t it feel weirder than it did? She found herself not repulsed by his touch at all.
“Stay down,” Hall whispered, peering around a corner as Case leaned back between a wall and a wooden desk.
“It sounds like he’s coming!” she whispered in a panic, clenching her fists. She loved Jackson but she was not about to go down for his extracurricular activities. “How are we going to explain being in here?”
“I don’t know,” Hall replied, shaking his head and taking off his hat, rubbing his hair and trying to be quiet. She looked so scared and he had no idea what to do. He knew he wasn’t going to abandon her and let her take the heat all by herself, but he certainly wasn’t going to let her off that easily, either. Ju
st by holding that box, they had both committed a federal crime.
Case clenched her fists and tried to think about an escape plan. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, though it was hard because she’d never been the type of girl to cause trouble, seeing as her roommate of the last four years had caused enough for the both of them.
She suddenly got an idea. A brilliant, crazy idea. She couldn’t give herself all of the credit, seeing as her drug-dealing roommate had actually been in a similar situation, but she had to try to see if it would work again.
Liza Littleton, her school’s most successful drug dealer, also happened to be her roommate. With her long, dark waves of hair and innocent blue eyes, she actually had made a successful side-job out of modeling teen clothes…but her real career was getting anything and everything the girls on campus needed, and she was great at it. She could look up at any adult with those eyes and spin a story so plausible that even Case had been convinced of her innocence. Though at times it had been annoying having so many people knocking on their door and asking for stuff, she was suddenly grateful for the lessons in deception.
“Hall, you helped me, now let me help you,” she whispered, taking his arms and pushing him back onto the edge of the desk. She quickly let go as his muscles flexed in protest and blushed in their dark corner, but he didn’t try to push her off. He slumped down and frowned at her in the dim lighting, the smell of dust rising all around them. Perching on the edge of the desk put them right at eye level.
“What are you doing?” he asked, as the footsteps circled around them. Her sudden touch had startled him, but he let her go ahead with whatever idea she was cooking up. She looked so worried and a little flushed.
“Can you just trust me?” she asked, looking over her shoulder for the cops and waiting for a reply.
“I guess.”
She didn’t have time for him to finish his answer or put another second of thought into it. Actually, she couldn’t think about it any longer either, or she might chicken out. Liza said it had worked for her, so Case took the only desperate chance she had at getting out of trouble.
