“Tonight? What happened to next week?” He held the paper close to his face, straining to read it in the dim light. An Iowa City address was written in Virgil's shaky script. Closer to downtown than he would have preferred. Downtown meant students and that meant dealing with marks who were either too drunk or too stupid to be intimidated for their own good. It also meant more cops.
“They made the buy earlier than expected.” Virgil shrugged. “What can I say? Who knew a bunch of college brats could come up with that kind of scratch on such short notice. All I know is that the pound that they got is getting lighter as we speak. Best to take it back while there's still something left to get.”
Brenden stared at the address for a few minutes before saying anything. He shook his head from side to side and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Nice if you let me know a little sooner, Virge.” He pointed to the guys waiting impatiently in Todd's Corolla “I mean, goddamn. I got one guy who ain't completely spun over there and he don't know jack shit yet.”
Virgil threw his hands up. “I just found out about this right before you guys got here, Brenden. What do you want me to do?” He started for the door and called out without looking back. “Get it done tonight, Brenden. Call me tomorrow.”
Brenden watched Virgil walk into his house and close the door behind him. The porch light went out and he was left in the darkness. Crickets chirped in the grass beneath his feet, keeping in time with the pulse that throbbed in his head. “Shit.” he mumbled to no one but himself and the insects. Now he had to break the news to the guys.
Chapter 14
They made a quick stop to stash the money in Joe Woodson's shed. Splitting it would have to wait until this job was done and taking it with them was too risky. If anything went wrong, there was no point in losing twelve grand in the process. It was early and their father was still awake, presumably eating ice cream and watching reruns. Brenden hid the backpack safely behind a heaping pile of empty feed sacks.
“So let me get this straight. He sold these guys some drugs and now we are supposed to go steal them back?” Kori leaned forward to ask his brother, who rode in the front, leaving him sandwiched between the dueling body odors of the Campbell cousins.
“Man, why do you have to ask so many stupid questions?” Chris piped up. “And what was that shit back there at Virgil's, anyway? Fucking know-it-all bullshit.”
Brenden switched the stereo off and turned around in his seat. “That know-it-all bullshit made us two grand more than we would have gotten. If you got a problem with that, get it out now before we get there.”
Chris said nothing. He stared out the window with a dour look on his pimple scarred face. Brenden looked around the car, daring anyone else to chime in. Nothing.
“I didn't think so. So shut the fuck up and chill out.” He settled back in his seat and turned the stereo back on. “We're pullin' double time tonight, boys.”
Everyone maintained their silence as the highway hummed beneath the small car tires, lulling them into a comfortable stupor. They were not holding and the car was legally up to snuff. This allowed them to make the trek via the main roads. As long as Todd kept his eyes peeled for the occasional deer crossing the pavement they would be rolling back into Iowa City shortly.
Brenden studied Chris in the mirror. He could sense the frustration growing by the minute. They were all tired and irritable, but the little guy had it the worst. Kori's arrival had upset the dynamics of the crew and Chris was feeling it the most. He was already bottom of the pack and now he was afraid that the top had just gotten higher. It was something that they would have to deal with soon.
He knew that he would have to take special care to harness some of that angst and use it to their advantage. They were heading into unknown territory. A couple of college guys with access to enough capital to get their hands on a pound of cocaine. They may very well be a bunch of crunchy granola types like Virgil claimed, but they were twenty something college kids nonetheless. It was not going to be like rolling a kid or some drag queen. These marks would most likely not go down without a fight.
He yawned and stuck his arm out the window to let the late September air cool his flesh. Todd drove cautiously down the street, affording him an opportunity to take in the local scenery. The fall term had just begun at the university, but there were no students around. At least not in this part of town. They were still a good twenty blocks from the downtown scene. The only thing this part of town had to offer was the occasional gas station or store salted in amongst the lower income property rentals.
They passed a grocery store and a small group of black guys eyes them hostilely. They were young, probably in their late teens. One of them was pushing a shopping cart down the sidewalk. He yelled at Brenden for staring, who promptly responded by giving him the finger. The kid aimed the shopping cart in their direction and gave it a shove. Its wheels faltered on the uneven concrete and the cart toppled in the street, well short of its target. The teens whooped and danced around in unison, returning with gestures of their own.
“What the fuck? Pull over, man!” Soup shouted. “I'm gonna shove that cart up that monkey's ass.”
Todd gripped the wheel tightly and looked in the mirror. “I feel a hate crime coming on.” He took his foot off of the accelerator and the car slowed down. The black kids interpreted that as a challenge and started toward them at a quick pace. Todd gripped the wheel tightly and looked in the mirror.
Chris giggled nervously.
“Don't even think about it.” Brenden gave the order in a calm but authoritative tone. Soup, who already had a hand on the door latch, eased back in his seat like a dog ordered to heel. The black kids were getting closer and more brash with every step. Brenden slapped Todd on the arm with the back of his wrist. “Go!”
The front wheels gave a weak chirp and the car lunged forward, jarring all of them against their seats. Racial slurs were exchanged between Soup and the teens as a glass bottle arced through the air, exploding a few feet behind them. This inspired another fit of mindless dancing from the blacks accompanied by more obligatory name calling. They made the green light at the end of the block and left the small mob behind.
“I can't believe you, Bren!” Soup's face was beet red. “Those motherfuckers think they own this place. It's because everybody just stands back and lets them do whatever they want. ” He looked through the back window and pounded on the seat. “Goddammit!”
“What do you care? You don't live here. Let 'em have it.”
“Whatever, man.” Soup replied throwing his hands up in disgust.
“Yeah, whatever,” Brenden said. He had better things to worry about than who was keeping the natives in line. He stared out of his window, trying to make out the numbers on the houses. It was comforting to know that at least one of his weary troops was finally getting into battle mode.
They approached the house after a heated debate on where to park. The finally agreed on a spot around the corner and two blocks down. Johnson Street was lined on both sides with apartments and teeming with students. Everyone was too busy partying to notice five guys wearing gloves and carrying ski masks. They were just another group of revelers out on the town.
Cars indiscriminately passed by them in every direction. Most of them were packed full of teenagers, violating the night air with overpowering bass rhythms. Raucous cheers poured from the windows along with an occasional empty beer can. Brenden was relieved by the absence of a police presence. It was still early by downtown standards and most of the uniformed cops were likely scouring the bars for underage drinkers. Good, he thought. Let's get this done and get out of Dodge.
It was not hard to find the house even though the porch light was not illuminated. They just followed the numbers down from the neighboring houses. It was a large two story Victorian with a porch that spanned the entire length of the front. Only a couple of windows showed light and Brenden considered the possibility that no one was home. The whole trip was starting to look l
ike a waste of their time.
“Can I help you with something?” someone called out from the darkness. They jumped and fumbled with their masks, which they had not bothered to put on yet. The plan was for one of them to ring the bell and ask for Brad, the rich beatnik that Virgil's people had previously sold the quantity to. Then they would rush the greeter, control any other occupants and take back the dope. Of course the unseen source of the voice had thrown a slight wrench in that approach.
“Uh... yeah.” Forced to ad lib, Brenden climbed the steps toward the voice. The others stayed down on the sidewalk. “Is Brad here? He told us we could stop by.” He hoped to hell that this was not Brad he was talking to.
A lanky bearded guy was sprawled out on a threadbare couch next to the front door. He held his hands behind his head with his elbows propped up in the air. Between his legs rested a ridiculously large bong. The base of it was nestled in the crook of his crossed ankles. A neatly braided ponytail draped over his shoulder and across his bare chest.
“Brad's here, but he's not up for company right now. You need something, go down to the Deadwood and get it from Larry. You do know Larry, right?” There was a hint of dismissive arrogance in his voice that was beginning to piss Brenden off.
“Come on, dude. Isn't there anyway you could get Brad to help us out. Just a couple of grams. We were just heading out of town and we really don't want to fuck around trying to find a parking spot downtown. You know what I mean?” Brenden stepped a few feet closer.
The lanky guy shrugged his narrow shoulders and bent over the bong. He placed his mouth over the opening and mumbled, “Not my problem. Man.” Water bubbled from the base of the monstrous apparatus and a flame danced over the tightly packed bowl.
“Wrong answer.” Brenden responded with a straight gloved fist that caught the lanky guy's forehead. The force of the blow was enough to scoot the couch back a few inches. The legs of the outdated couch screeched against the wooden porch floor. The guy's head pivoted loosely on his neck and he let the bong slip from his hands. Brenden caught it before it landed and swung viciously at the guy's head. Bong water erupted from the opening, drenching them both. Embers from the bowl peppered the side of the lanky guy's face as he slumped over the arm of the couch. The rancid water extinguished most of the sparks on contact, except for a large red chunk that landed in the guy's ear. It smoked as it slowly died out, burning into the flesh.
“That's gonna leave a mark.” Todd rushed the steps, followed closely by the others.
They all donned masks except Kori, who stood wide eyed at the top step. He stared at the motionless man on the couch. He had never seen a dead body before, but was certain that he was looking at one now. A ringing started in his ears from way off in the distance. It grew steadily stronger with each beat of his pulse. He felt as if he was going to pass out.
Brenden slapped him on the back of the head, jolting him back to reality. He pulled the mask from Kori's back pocket and thrust it in his face. “Put this on and watch the door. Don't let anyone out.” He motioned to body slumped on the couch as he followed the others inside. “And watch him.”
Kori's legs trembled as he stood in the doorway and listened. The yelling started, followed by sounds of breaking glass and screaming from rooms beyond his view. Heavy footsteps pounded wooden floors and the unmistakable meaty smack of fists meeting skin. His eyes darted from the foyer to the couch and back. The lanky guy started to moan as he came to.
Kori panicked. He looked around and picked up the first thing that resembled a weapon, the bong. He tested the weight of it in his hands, shocked by how heavy it was at the base. It was a thousand wonders that the blow from it didn't kill the poor bastard. He held it over the couch and prepared to strike if the guy sat up, although he doubted that he could actually do it. Residual bong sledge flowed in a dirty brown stream down his forearm. He kept telling himself that this would be over soon.
Out of nowhere a hoarse cry erupted from the foyer, accompanied by the patter of bare feet on the wooden floor. Over his shoulder he saw a short husky man, with an uncanny resemblance to a hobbit, running straight for the doorway. His arms pumped like those of an Olympic sprinter. In one hand he carried a large briefcase by the handle. It swung heavily with each stride, alternately slapping against his arm and thigh.
Without thinking, Kori swung the bong in a deep lopping chop as the hobbit crossed the threshold. The base connected flush with the hobbit’s jawbone, which was opened in mid scream. His stocky body dropped but momentum carried him several feet onto the porch. The briefcase was caught halfway underneath his belly with his hand stuck firmly in the handle. A wet mewling sound rose from his bloody mouth as his breathing was reduced to a series of faint gurgles.
The hobbit turned out to be the Brad they were looking for. By the time Brenden and Todd reached the foyer, the lanky guy had come to and was cradling Brad's limp body in his arms. “Brad? Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god.” He was weeping either because he really liked Brad or the blows to his head had really taken a toll. Tears streamed down his bare chest, washing trails in the smears of blood coming from Brad's mouth. He looked up in time to see the laces of Todd's boot glide toward his own face. He was out once again, this time lying awkwardly across his friend's barrel chest.
Todd lifted him enough for Brenden to pry the briefcase out from under them. He opened it and studied the contents in the light of the hall. The sounds of punches landing continued in the background. Each one was accompanied by labored exhales, like someone hitting a heavy bag at the gym. Soup's voice echoed through the house, carrying with it a string of indiscernible profanities.
“Let's go, Ladies!” Brenden yelled through the doorway.
Soup and Chris appeared a few minutes later. Soup was completely out of breath and grinning wildly beneath his ski mask. His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated from adrenaline. Chris had created a makeshift sack out of a large white sweatshirt. The shirt was stuffed to the seams with various items, the spoils of war. Kori noticed right away that the shirt did not belong to Chris and that it was soaked with blood.
Chapter 15
Butch Tassler chewed on an unlit cigar and watched his partner pull out of the courthouse parking lot. He leaned against the patrol car and fumbled for a light. Dale always made it a big deal if he even considered lighting up inside the county vehicle. Damn kid was a stickler for the rules, just one item in a long list of reasons to despise him.
How Butch felt about Dale was no secret. He made it a point for it not to be. The other deputies all took a liking to the kid from day one. That was all fine, but they weren't the one riding with him. He lit up and pined for the good old days when he rode alone., before he was stuck with some camera happy newbie, whose primary goal in life was to bore him with policies and procedures.
It was pointless to complain to Whitey Baylor. That sorry excuse for a sheriff had his head stuck too far up the county attorney's rectum to give a shit about what went on in the field. Stu Fisher gets his ass handed to him by a couple of degenerates and everyone gets partnered up. Then Whitey, who should have retired two terms ago, had the gall to let the deputies pick who they wanted to be paired with? Of course nobody was going to pick Butch. No one wanted the only one on the force with a brain making them look bad.
So he found himself spending twelve miserable hours a shift babysitting the department mascot. The guy didn't hunt or fish and he hated smoking. The only thing that Dale showed any interest in was pointing that damned camera at everything. He wished someone would show him where in the holy handbook that said that was within policy. The kid probably never got laid either. Butch could not recall one time since wonderboy had made his illustrious appearance that he had seen him within twenty feet of a woman.
Damn snot nose probably thought he was too good for them. Like he forgot exactly where he had come from. Well, Butch never forgot. He remembered when Dale was just another lowlife piece of trailer trash from Cameron, living hand to mouth with th
at hot ass mother of his.
She was a real looker, that one. Seemed a little too good for everyone, just like her boy does now. Butch had entertained the idea of nailing her to the mattress once or twice, back in the day. He might have stood a chance if it wasn't for Stu Fisher always sniffing around after her old man died. Naturally, Butch was the only one with enough sense to notice. Everyone else had Stu pegged as a saint.
One good thing about Dale was his choice of residence. For some reason he had it in his mind to move back to that dump where he had grown up. Trash always blew back to where it was first thrown out, Butch reckoned. Cop cars tended to get themselves vandalized when parked in shitholes like Creekside. At least Whitey had enough activity left in that pickled old brain of his to insist that Dale either move or let Butch take his turns driving the patrol car home. Damned if the idiot kid didn't choose living in the ghetto over free gas and use of a county vehicle.
It felt liberating to ride alone. Now he could do a few necessaries that could not be done under the watchful eye of Whitey's pet. First on the list was to cruise by his ex-wife's place on the way home. Technically the house in Cedar Ridge was still in his name, but a restraining order prevented him from actually entering it. Some spineless empathetic judge had the nerve to decide that he, a decorated officer of the law, could no longer set foot in his own home. A home that his own father had built. It was just par for the course, Butch knew. They always took up for the woman, didn't they?
Now his ex was shacked up with some punk ten years her junior. Some grease monkey from Tipton was running his dirty dick across bed sheets that Butch worked to pay for. It made his stomach churn just thinking about it. He promised himself that one day he would catch the little shit alone and break his jaw for him.
The first year of the separation, before the imminent divorce that followed, he found himself with his head in a bottle and his nose in a bible. These days he mostly just drank, leaving the god stuff to the true believers. One verse did stick with him, though. It rang in his head like a Balinese gong each time he drove near his former home. “If a man is found lying with a married woman, then both of them shall die. The man who lay with the woman, and the woman; thus you shall purge the evil from Israel.” Well, he thought to himself, the Ridge was a far cry from Israel but he would see those two dead if it was the last thing he did.
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