Chapter 9
Soup stopped the Impala short of the busier part of the street, where they still had plenty of cover from the approaching lights. He loaded up another round of foil and passed it around the car after taking the initial hit for himself. They were pretty well amped by the time they had made most of the thirty block trek to the west end of town. Under Chris's sketchy navigation they had only been forced to turn around and backtrack twice. Soup cursed under his breath, but even he accepted that it was just par for the course.
They were just entering the more affluent neighborhood of University Heights when Todd received Kori's text. The three rode in silence for a few minutes, a preparatory ritual that they knew all too well. Time to reflect on the reality of the situation and the severity of the potential outcomes that it held. Also time to let the last round of crank work its magic on their systems.
Todd finally broke the silence as Soup pulled the car to the curb, half a block from their destination. He craned his head out of the passenger window and studied the scene. “This is a goddamn nice neighborhood, boys. Sure you got that address right, Chris?”
“What do you think, I'm an idiot? Of course this is the right place. What'd you expect? A gingerbread house?” he snapped.
“I thought everybody who lived in the Heights were all doctors and professors and shit. Your girlfriend, the Queen. Is he some kind of professor or something?” Todd settled back into his seat and rummaged through a bag on the floorboard. He doled out masks and gloves to Chris and Soup, keeping the cleanest looking set for himself.
Chris sat there grinning smugly as if he were the sole keeper of the world's best kept secret. His eyebrows danced up and down on his pimply forehead. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at his companions in the front seat.
“No shit?” Soup said. “A dope dealing professor. Ain't that some shit. What's he teach, Home EC 101?” He laughed and slapped the back of his hand firmly on Todd's chest. The slap stung as loudly as it sounded, leaving Todd gasping for breath. “Get it? Home EC, 'cause he's a...” Todd pointed at Soup and then to his head in a gesture that said, yeah I got it.
Notorious for giving stupid answers to rhetorical questions, Chris shook his head and replied. “No, I think he told me he taught ethics or some shit like that.” This got Todd laughing, despite his inability to breath. He pointed to Soup again, then to Chris and finally to his own head.
“Now that's funny,” he wheezed.
They left the Impala parked in the darkness and headed down the block on foot, allowing Chris to walk twenty yards ahead. Chris led them to a newer looking ranch style house and rang the bell. Todd and Soup strategically positioned themselves on either side of the door, several feet out of view from the wide stain glass sidelights.
Soup did a visual of the front yard and street from his vantage point. Nothing. He surveyed the two late model vehicles parked in the driveway. A Camry and a Lexus convertible were parked neatly in front of the garage. He thought to himself, one thing about these fags. They sure do drive nice cars. Adrenaline thumped inside his skull as he stretched the skin tight pair of leather racing gloves over his hands. He licked his lips and adjusted his feet for optimum traction.
Chris was about to ring the bell again when the front light came on. Todd and Soup held steady, like two prize fighters anticipating the start of the first round. The masks covering their faces could not conceal the fire of excitement in their eyes. I feel a hate crime coming on, Todd thought to himself. Chris hit the doorbell one more time and quickly turned away. He walked down the front steps toward the street, not looking back as the sound of the deadbolt snapped on the other side of the door.
The door opened inward and a voice called out to him. “Can I help you?”
Chris did not reply. He kept walking until he reached the sidewalk. Without turning he casually reached up with both hands and pulled the ski mask over his face. The voice in the doorway materialized into a young man with a build even more slight than his own. The young man stepped out on the landing and threw his hands up impatiently. “Hello! What the fuck is your problem?”
Before he had time to finish the question, they were on him. It was Todd who struck the first blow, stepping out of the darkness and delivering a hay-maker to the side of the head. In a panicked confusion the man turned toward the doorway, but Soup quickly snatched him by the hair with one hand and pulled him back. In a matter of seconds he had him in a choke hold that quashed any chance of screaming for help. Momentum carried them through the open door and they fell into the foyer. Soup never loosened his grip as his full body weight landed on top of his prey. Todd followed them inside, narrowly avoiding stepping on the two as they struggled. Chris was close behind, slamming the door shut behind him.
Soup stayed on him, easing his hold only when the man went limp beneath him. The other two made a quick sweep of the house to make sure that no one else was there. Vaguely familiar with the layout from previous visits, Chris led the way. He was not the brightest bulb in the box, but Chris held his own during working hours and Todd trusted him fully. They found no signs of anyone else and returned to the foyer.
Soup was standing over his barely conscious victim, who sat slumped over with his back to the wall. He was slowly gaining his faculties with the help of several well placed slaps. Each time the open gloved hand connected with flesh the sound echoed throughout the small entry way. Not a word was spoken until the man regained enough composure to look up at them. When he did they realized that he was hardly a man at all, but rather a boy no older than thirteen.
The look of terror on his young face stopped Soup in mid swing. Winded from the struggle, Soup fought to catch his breath. The opened hand of the undelivered slap closed into a fist. He cocked it back and smiled through the mask. “Where is it?”
He only had to ask two more times.
The boy was hesitant at first, denying that there were any drugs in the house. They always did at first. He tried to placate the intruders by suggesting that they just settle for some of the expensive looking knickknacks that adorned virtually every available space in the house. He swore that they were “old and really fucking valuable, you guys.” He motioned to a low glass top table in the living room. His hand trembled as he pointed, swollen and bleeding from fending off punches. “There's some money and my cell phone on the table. Just take it, please.”
“Do we look like a bunch of goddamned antique dealers, asshole?” Todd snarled as he swiped the stack of bills from the table. As an afterthought he pocketed the phone as well. He stared down at the table for a moment and ran his gloved finger across the glass surface. He held it up and the tip was coated in white powder. “Check it out.”
Infuriated, Soup grabbed the boy by the hair and punched him squarely in the back of the head. Dragging him by the hair and shirt, he shoved the boy's face against the glass hard enough for it to crack. “No dope, huh?” He leaned down and pressed his lips closely against the ear that was not mashed into the glass. “I'm gonna ask you this one more time. Where is it?”
“The bedroom,” the boy whimpered. Tears and snot mixed with the coke residue left a Rorschach-esque splotch on the glass. On his face was the matching other half. “It's in the Queen's room.”
Soup held tightly to the patch of hair and let him lead them down the hallway. They entered the master bedroom and the boy immediately pointed to a nightstand on the left side of the bed. Todd pushed his way past them and looked in the drawer. He shot the boy a disgusted look and pulled the drawer completely out. He dumped the contents onto the bed. A few pill bottles and a gallon sized freezer bag full of marijuana, among other unmentionable things spilled across the satin comforter.
“This cannot be all of it,” Todd said through clenched teeth. The statement was directed more to Chris than the boy. After all, he had been to this house several times buying dope and scoping the place out. He had promised them the mother lode. Chris stood in the doorway in silence. Not wanting his voice
to be recognized, he had not spoken a word since they had entered the house.
Soup let his fist do the talking for the last time. A brutal shot to the kidney dropped the boy to his knees. Unable to catch his breath, he pointed a trembling hand to the nightstand. Before anyone could stop him he pulled the heavy piece of furniture nearly on top of himself to reveal a wall safe hidden neatly behind it. Without being prompted he began to punch out a series of codes on the number pad. He failed on the first attempt and began jamming the numbers hard with his thumb. The lock clicked open and he collapsed with his chest on the back of the upturned nightstand and began to sob.
Soup dragged him by the feet and pulled him out of the way. Todd rolled the nightstand clear of the door. When he opened it they were all stunned. “Holy Christ. Would you look at that.”
The haul nearly filled two of the pillow cases that they had stripped from the bed. They only took the drugs and cash. What they left behind was a sizable collection of sex pictures. The one on the top of the stack appeared to be of the boy and some old fat guy in drag.
There was a brief debate on what to do with the boy. After seeing the picture, Soup wanted to beat him within an inch of his life and leave him where they had found him. Chris was neutral. He just wanted to get the hell out of there. Todd grabbed the photo from the top of the stack and stuffed it into the boy's front shirt pocket, making sure it was partially visible. He had a more logical idea. One that would benefit them all.
They tied the boy to the bed using some nylons from the emptied drawer. The boy did not struggle or protest. He was either beaten too far into a state of shock to care or else he was disturbingly accustomed to this scenario. As they exited the house they flipped on every light switch within reach. Not bothering to close the front door behind them, the trio made sure the coast was clear and started for the Impala. Todd pulled the boy's cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911. He hit the send button placed the phone at the end of the driveway.
The Queen now had bigger problems than losing his dope.
Chapter 10
The Woodson brothers were waiting at the end of the parking lot when Soup's boat of a car pulled up. They stepped out of the darkness and climbed into the back seat. Once again Kori found himself crammed in the middle. Chris was sweating heavily and fidgeting with the door lock, too distracted to even look up as they got in. He just shifted more to his side of the seat and stared out the window.
“Well?” Brenden asked. “How was the Queen's castle?”
“It smelled like incense and ass. Other than that, it was great,” Todd replied. “Nothing a long hot shower and a twelve pack won't fix.”
“That's not what I'm asking.” Brenden said, impatiently. “Was it a good haul, or not?”
“More than good. I don't think even sleeping beauty here knew how much was in that place.” Todd jerked his thumb at Chris, who was sitting behind him. He twisted around to face Kori. “Don't mind him by the way. He always gets his sleep on after we roll. That and he's been up for about a week.”
Soup backed the Impala into the parking lot entrance to turn around. He shifted into drive and slowly inched back onto the street. Suddenly he mashed down on the brakes, startling everyone in the vehicle. Even Chris sat up long enough to looked around and ask what was going on. Soup threw his arm over the back of the seat and let out a deep sigh.
“You know. One thing about these fags, they sure do have nice cars.”
With that, he threw the transmission back into reverse and punched the gas. The Impala launched backwards as everything and everyone in the vehicle was thrust forward. The squealing tires spun on the loose gravel, sending the car diagonally through the lot until the bumper collided with the broad side of a black Volvo. The newer model car in turn slammed into a minivan that was parked next to it. Soup once again shifted into drive and accelerated toward the street. Kori managed to turn around just in time to see the Volvo settle back on all four tires. The driver's side was completely caved in.
Chris snapped out of his catatonic state and started to cheer. He began slapping his hand on the outside of the roof and laughing hysterically. Soup looked back at him and smiled. “You like that, little man?”
“Oh, yeah!” Chris reached forward to high five his cousin and nearly elbowed Kori in the head. Not that Kori would have even noticed if he had. He was too mortified to move at that point.
As they made their way back to the more illuminated streets, Soup caught the reflection of Brenden in the rear view. His laughter was immediately stifled by the look of pure rage on Brenden's face. He self-consciously gripped the wheel with both hands and steered the vehicle in the direction of home. Even Chris had enough wits about him to sense the tension in the car. He sat back in his seat and rested his head on the door.
They took the long way home. Once out of the city limits, a vast series of dirt and gravel country roads kept them off the beaten path. This enabled them to avoid all but a few other vehicles and only cross a handful of bisecting paved roads. The ride was spent in silence with Soup feeling the lasers of hate beaming from Brenden's ice blue eyes.
Everyone bailed out of the car the instant that Soup parked behind Joe Woodson's pickup truck and turned off the engine. Everyone except Brenden, who remained in the back seat. Thankful to be liberated from the tense atmosphere, they went to work unloading the gear from the trunk. Soup handed the pillow cases to Todd and slammed the trunk shut. He bent down and accessed the damage from his impromptu smash and dash. Satisfied that it didn't have too many more dents or scratches than before, he stood up and dusted his hands off.
He never heard Brenden close the car door and approach him from behind. He barely had a chance to turn around before the solid punch caught him high on the cheekbone, buckling his knees and sending him reeling back against the trunk. He considered getting back to his feet but thought better of it when he saw the look on Brenden's face.
“Don't ever do something that fucking stupid around me again!” Brenden stalked across the yard, leaving Soup to nurse his damaged face and pride alone. As crazy as he was, he knew enough to take the lesson and let it go. Give the boss man a few minutes to cool down. Then go inside and help count the nightly take. Then maybe get high.
Kori watched in awe as Todd emptied the pillow cases onto his father's kitchen table. Thin bundles of cash, various Ziploc bags and bottles of pills were strewn across the table cloth. They contrasted with the normal table settings. A bulging bag of yellow pills lay on top of an overturned salt shaker. A stream of salt granules spilled out on some loose twenty dollar bills. Todd pinched a few grains, threw them over his shoulder and proceeded to gather the stray bills into neat piles. Brenden and Chris sorted through the drugs while Soup sat quietly in a chair, rubbing his reddened cheek.
Unsure of the politics involved, Kori left the others to their business and wandered into the living room. It was the first time that he had set foot in the room in over six years.
It was in that very room that his mother had simply walked in one day and announced that she was leaving, moving to Des Moines and taking Kori with her. Reverend Cole had accepted a position at a new church in Ames and had asked her to join him. She had adjusted her posture, as if anticipating the backlash and said, “And I accepted.”
Kori had been fifteen at the time and Brenden his elder by three years.
“What about Brenden?” Kori had asked. He was in total shock. He never saw it coming.
“What do you think, dipshit?” Brenden had stood up quickly and grimaced. He was in a knee brace at the time from a wrestling injury. The injury that kept him from getting a full ride to Iowa. “I'm not exactly flock material am I, Mom? What, Clayton don't want the black sheep telling the others that the shepherd's been banging the church secretary right under their noses?”
Their mother had gasped and then defiantly choked back the look of surprise with a mask of anger. It was a look that she seldom practiced, let alone mastered. She had avoided lookin
g at her half drunken husband or her younger son, both of whom sat in stunned silence. Her pale blue eyes locked on to Brenden's, eyes that matched hers so much that she may have well have been staring into a mirror. Her face had been flush with embarrassment and her unsteady legs threatened to betray her at any moment. She had expected this reaction from Brenden. She probably even deserved it, but to have Kori hear all of this broke her heart.
“Did you really think I didn't know?” He had asked as he pushed past her, shrinking away as she absently reached to touch him. He had walked out the front door and did not return until she made good on her promise to leave. Those were the last words spoken between them until she had brought Kori back, earlier that afternoon.
The scene played out in Kori's mind as he sank deeper into the couch, the same one that he had sat on during that fateful afternoon. The décor of the room had not changed at all. Material objects that his mother had once lovingly arranged to beautify her home were still right where she had left them. They were not dirty, just unkempt. Like artifacts in a forgotten tomb, abandoned and lonely.
He wondered why his father never tried to stop her. He just let Brenden do all of the talking, which inevitably drove her out for good. Maybe it was because he knew all of the things that Brenden said were true. Or that he was just too deep into the bottle to care. Maybe he knew all along that she was already gone, long before she actually left.
Kori fell asleep with the memories in his head mixing with the maddening events of the day. Sounds of kitchen table narcotics negotiations drifted from the other room. That supplemented with a slight contact buzz from the car ride to Iowa City made for some lucid dreams.
Chapter 11
The morning came like a slap to the face in the dark. Kori was disoriented from waking in a strange place. His neck and back ached from a night on the broken down sofa, but most of all he was famished. It occurred to him that he had not eaten since early the morning before. He rolled off of the couch and rubbed at the knots in the side of his neck. He made a mental note to see if his old room was as trapped in time as the rest of the house, just as soon as he found something to eat.
Dimebag Bandits Page 6
