“Good afternoon, Miss Doris. What can I do for you?”
“We don’t allow dogs on these premises. You must immediately vacate. Now, young man.”
“You let us stay before. What’s different,” she cut him off before he could finish the sentence with the “now?”.
“Before I had to, at the request of the sheriff. Now that your case is resolved, you aren’t here at their hospitality.”
“I’ve paid my own way,” he protested.
“Dogs and whores are not allowed in my establishment. You have fifteen minutes to vacate or I’m calling the sheriff’s office. I’m also keeping your room fee to clean up after all your filthy dog hair.”
She turned on her pumps, grinding sandy concrete dust underneath, and strode quickly down the sidewalk toward the diner. Kelton let her go without calling after. It seemed his welcome here had been rescinded. He closed the door and returned to the bed to give Baylee Ann another gentle nudge.
She rolled on to her back with a heavy flop, her shaking breasts making the tattooed eagle wings appear like they were flapping. He had trouble keeping his eyes away.
“Do you want to lick them?” she teased grasping them, and giving a slight squeeze with each hand.
He turned a little red as he glanced away. In truth, he didn’t. The ink work just made him think about how many others had been there. He wasn’t naive about it; he just didn’t find it appealing to have that fact thrown in his face.
“No time. We got to pack up and go. Something’s wrong.”
“You got a dog, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Where he goes, I go. Never again,” he said as he checked the Glock. All was as it should. He stroked Azrael’s head as she got up.
“I’ve rested enough. I had to rest. But I want to find Bambi.”
Kelton cocked his head to the side, “The watering hole where you say this Shep guy is. It’s nearly ten miles. Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“I’m going to find my friend. When I put my mind to it, I can do anything.”
Her feet were reasonably steady as she rose. It didn’t take long for them to dress and gather their things, for they didn’t have much. Baylee Ann took the roll of toilet paper with a smile and a shrug. Kelton rinsed and filled the CamelBak. The day was likely to seem warm with lots of walking, and she would be more demand upon the supply.
They walked down the little sidewalk in front of the motel doors, weaved through the small automotive service island, and rounded the corner of the travel mart and diner. The soft buzz of the interstate hummed in the background, and a cool spring breeze rustled Baylee Ann’s hair. The sun was bright, and Kelton put on his shades.
Through the window of the diner they saw Doris strolling with her coffee pot while Ed sat at the register. Dixie held a pad in her hands while standing at a table with a weary family. Baylee Ann waived to get the attention of Doris, who paused just long enough to let them know she had seen them. Baylee Ann then raised her middle finger as they walked past to the grassy field next to the big truck diesel pumps.
Baylee Ann didn’t have waterproof boots, but with the morning dew long gone Kelton thought they would try and cut a few corners. Rather than walk down Main Street to the flashing light at Thigpen Road, they cut through the grass and woods on the truck stop’s south side. Moving as the crow flies would save many miles, and Kelton reckoned Baylee Ann didn’t have as many miles in herself as the tough facade she put on. Kelton knew what walking that distance felt like, and he was athletic and in-shape. Baylee Ann was recovering from the pit ordeal, and obviously had a long history of making less than marginal health choices.
It was the same woods where Azrael had hidden when Kelton and James found him. It was also the woods in which the lizard girls hid while awaiting wanting drivers. The used condoms strewn about were merely disgusting. Even the potential diseases they may have carried were harmless if they weren’t handled, as if anyone would want to. Those germs had also been at the mercy of full sunlight for extended periods. The used syringes were what concerned Kelton. His boots were designed with a heavy mountaineering tread providing significant protection, but Azrael’s feet were just pads. Tough pads, used to daily work, but just pads all the same.
Baylee Ann laughed curiously as Kelton kneeled and retrieved the four small dog boots from the bottom of his pack. They were a commercial product, common with hunters in the American southwest amongst cactus spines and sharp rocks. The K-9 handlers had used them in Iraq when the terrain was rugged or the locals had been messy with lots of broken glass. Azrael went obediently onto his back for fastening the Velcro, but his first steps came with a mid-air foot shake in his stride. They weren’t his favorite thing.
But he didn’t need to wear them long. A few hundred yards through woods and a pasture, and the drug paraphilia faded into standard rural street trash. Another quarter mile, even the mundane trash became a nonissue. Kelton paused again to remove Azrael’s booties, while Baylee Ann stood sweating with hands on her hips.
“You need some water?” he asked her.
She nodded, not wanting to stop her breathing to make words. Kelton extended the CamelBak’s mouth hose to her. Baylee Ann panted to make up for the breathing lost as she swallowed.
“Going to make it? It’s for Bambi,” he encouraged.
She nodded her head and trudged on.
“Tell me something to keep my mind off it. Tell me about your girls,” she said. “Something juicy.”
“I can’t say I have juicy women stories. Mom kept a pretty tight rein on me, not wanting her mistakes to be repeated. There were a few girls at the academy that shared with me their favors. But there was also a lot of competition and they moved on pretty quick. At least I had a turn, is how I’ve come to think of it. After graduation they sent us to all these trainings measured in weeks at different bases. Then it was off to the warzone. Other than a hotel party I stumbled across in Bagdad, where I met a British flight attendant named Julie for a wonderful thirty hours, there just hasn’t been time.”
His story carried them another half mile and their route across the cattle pastures and hayfields converged with Thigpen Road. Kelton helped her over the barbed wire fence and the drainage ditch. Her cheeks were red, and perspiration soaked her shirt. They paused for another drink, and he threw the Kong toy for Azrael a few times who was frustrated with the slow pace.
Walking the roadside made for easier going. Only a couple of cars passed them in the next forty-five minutes, and neither slowed down to offer them a ride. Kelton felt they would have stopped if they were standing beside a disabled vehicle, as a courtesy to a fellow motorist, but people simply out for a walk were a different proposition.
“I need to rest again. I’m sorry,” she said, leaning forward with hands on her thighs.
“It’s okay. Lay down here on the shoulder and you can put your feet up on my pack.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to lay in the grass?” she asked.
“Only if you like ticks,” he grinned.
Her eyes went wide, “Yuck. I hate those blood suckers.”
“I think that is something all three of us have in common.” Then he added, “How are your feet?”
“They hurt. I feel hot rubs on my toes and heels.”
He nodded knowingly again.
“I saw a house up ahead,” she said. “Do you think they will let us take a break there?”
Kelton shrugged, “Maybe. It’s Braxton Greene’s house.”
She sat up, “The guitar player?”
Kelton looked at her suspiciously, “I think he said he was a plumber.”
“It has to be him. I know him. Help me up,” she said extending her arms upward.
Kelton grabbed them and pulled Baylee Ann to her feet before donning his pack. He wasn’t so sure about getting any help from Braxton Greene. The only time he’d met the man, he’d been with Buck who had been a real dick. But they didn’t have much in the way of options. It had take
n them twice as long to get here as it had taken Kelton to walk back with Azrael that day, and he’d stuck to the road rather than saving a lot of steps cutting cross-country. Baylee Ann was a rider, not a walker.
Kelton followed behind, letting her take the lead. They couldn’t see the truck on account of the overgrown landscaping until right upon it, but there in the driveway it was. She plodded to the freshly repaired door, and from her shifting gait he could tell her feet were really hurting her. He wished he had a pair of fresh socks to offer her, but his were much too large. Baylee Ann pounded on the door.
“Braxton! It’s Baylee Ann. Get up, Honey!” she said as loudly as she could and still keep a sweet tone.
The door opened wide, him standing there in a pair of cutoffs and flip-flops. In his arms he held a clear glass mixing bowl from which he was eating macaroni and cheese. When he saw her his jaw hung lose and he dropped the fork.
“Are you going to invite me in, Sweetie?” she smiled.
“Ah,” he said sticking his head out and looking around, “I guess so.”
Kelton gave a small friendly wave, standing politely back. Azrael sat at his side in the heel position with bright eyes that seemed to say, “Hello again.”
“And he and the dog can come in, too,” Braxton said before walking back inside with the door ajar behind him.
Baylee Ann looked back at Kelton with a smile, shrugged, and walked inside leaving the door wide open. Kelton and Azrael were quite a few strides behind, but they hurried to catch up. Braxton had sat down in the middle of the brown tattered couch, but Baylee Ann didn’t let that stop her from sitting next to him. Kelton sat on the adjacent recliner, Azrael laying down at his feet.
The two furniture pieces made a rough ell around a dingy shag rug. It exuded odors, mainly marijuana smoke and old beer. Across from the couch was a television set, a new flat screen digital model, on a stand containing a tired looking VHS player. The walls were the brown paneling with the black vertical grooves popular in decades past. A wood beaded entryway led to a kitchenette and breakfast table. A hallway the other direction led to what was most likely a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms. There were a few family photos, some shifted slightly on their hangers to reveal years of sun fading on the paneling. A dusty gun cabinet in the corner with a cracked glass pane held a rifle and a couple of shotguns. The coffee table was covered in sheet music.
“That’s a good looking TV set,” commented Kelton.
“Buck broke my old one. Sometimes I like to play along with the bands on old shows. There’s not been much work recently, and that bastard Shep keeps taking my tips. Never paid me for the pipework in his kitchen neither. Hate him. I got a job coming up though. Seems Mrs. Mertle’s family wants to sell her home over on Smallwood Street and the pipes aren’t up to code.”
“Speaking of Shep’s place,” interjected Baylee Ann, “Have you seen Bambi?”
“She’s with Shep. I saw her last night.”
“Was Rebel there, too?”
Braxton blinked a few times as if trying to recall, and then his eyes lit up a little.
“Yeah, Rebel was there. Talking to Shep. They were both in chairs at the front of Shep’s desk, trembling something fierce. Things had a really tense feel in there, like they’d been doing some hard negotiating. I don’t know what about.”
Baylee Ann dismissed that, “I don’t care what about. I just care about my friend, Bambi. I need to go get her, and it’s a really long walk. Will you give us a ride?”
“I don’t want no trouble with Shep. I hate him, but his thugs will bury me alive.”
“No trouble, Braxton. I just want to make sure my girl is making her own choices. Everyone should be able to make their own choices, right?”
Braxton nodded, “That’s right.”
“If you don’t want to go, can we borrow your truck? I know you don’t want to be hours early for your gig tonight. And I just want to get Bambi. Then the two of us will come and see you. Would you like that?”
“Yeah. That would be okay,” he nodded.
“Can I have the keys then, Baby? Bambi and I will be really grateful,” her head and shoulders swayed gently from side to side while she talked with the exaggerated southern drawl.
Braxton leaned back on the couch to squeeze his hand into the pockets of the shorts. He squirmed a bit from side to side, but Kelton could hear the soft sound of metal on metal as Braxton’s hand closed about the keyring. A second later, Baylee Ann leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Kelton felt the old guy seemed exceptionally mellow.
Minutes later, Kelton, Azrael and Baylee Ann were outside firing up the two-tone pickup. Despite being adorned with the proud dents and scratches of a working truck, it started smoothly for Kelton. He put it in gear, and carefully returned his hands to ten and two o’clock on the steering wheel before taking his foot off the brake. They sat three across, the dog sitting up proudly in the middle to block the rearview mirror. As a result, Kelton looked over his shoulder and creeped slowly out onto the road.
“You drive like a grandmother,” declared Baylee Ann.
“Quiet, please. I’m trying to concentrate,” pleaded Kelton.
He turned the wheel as he backed into the road, and after stopping put the truck all the way into “park” before slowly moving the selector three clicks to “drive”. A little bit of gas, and they were rolling down the road at close to 40 miles per hour. Kelton grinned.
“The speed limit is 55, but there aren’t much in the way of cops out here,” advised Baylee Ann.
It bought her another five miles per hour. Kelton leaned forward to peer through the windshield, both hands firmly gripping the wheel. Baylee Ann stared at him a little bit, and then sat back heavily and sighed.
CHAPTER—24
Rebel sat on the back of a bike riding like a bitch, and hating every moment of it. He hid his face in the back of the guy’s jacket, much like how an ostrich sticks their head in the ground to avoid the image of something unpleasant. The pack of riders surrounding him kept making faces and rude hand gestures at him. But he also had to admit to himself he needed rescuing. His smashed nose throbbed, and his neck and back screamed with whiplash every time they hit a small bump. And this biker seemed to love to steer out of his way to get every little suspension jolt he could. The shotgun pellets, or car door fragments, were still in his hind end and maybe his arm causing numbness and swelling. Finally, the briars had torn at his face and hands leaving streaks of blood and embedded thorns.
He tried to keep his mind off all of that and concentrate on the money. Rebel had known someone would pick him up, sooner or later. He looked too much like he needed help for even the most selfish passerby to ignore. That Shep had sent his boys to look for him was a blessing. Legitimate Samaritans would likely have called the authorities, resulting in his eventual incarceration. He would be unable to resist in his current state; one phone call and he was done for. So he had stashed the plastic bag of cash. It was sealed and would resist the elements just fine. His biggest worry was forgetting where it was and being unable to find it again. Good landmarks were a little iffy and so was his memory. The only thing worse than being on the run looking for a complete fresh start, was having to do it penniless. Sure, he had some money in the bank but that would probably be frozen by the time he could reach an ATM.
Being picked up by Shep was a mixed blessing with its own set of issues. Police scrutiny of the Lowland Outlaws was going to bring a shit-storm to Shep’s front door and he would hold him accountable for that. Like buried twenty feet down using a backhoe from some rider’s construction day job, forgetting to kill him first kind of accountable. No one would ever find him. That might happen anyway, but that was the game to be played. Rebel was okay with gambling between freedom and death, versus assured imprisonment. Go for broke. All or nothing. It was the way he’d driven on the track.
Bambi wasn’t a bargaining chip anymore. Rebel was under no illusion that Shep would give her back, or ac
cept her as sufficient compensation for the damage Rebel’s shortcomings had done to Shep’s enterprise. Shep owned her now. Nor would Baylee Ann change the equation. She might be good to throw in as a deal sweetener, like if Shep was on the edge of agreement, but the woman was in real rough shape. The only leverage he had was the money and its location. Could it save him from summarily being executed?
Rebel felt the only thing the money bought was a delay in his demise. The biker gang leader knew if Rebel was penniless and on the run, his chances of making it were slim. Which meant getting nabbed, and trying to negotiate his sentence down by singing on Shep. After all, while breaking into Sheriff Fouche’s car was a second offense after his old domestic violence conviction, it still was just attempted auto-theft. They’d done no violence. It wouldn’t be hard for a prosecutor to rationalize some leeway for him with the juicy prize of a huge conspiracy. Shep would certainly kill him to squash that possibility, once he had his hands on the cash. Rebel felt his best play would be to lead Shep’s men to it, but along the way somehow make a run for it and slip away. Maybe with the money, maybe not.
The lousy forty-five g’s that was supposed to be in the package wasn’t going to buy him that. Shep Primrose wasn’t going to risk harboring him for such a paltry sum. Money like that probably passed through his saloon every few months. But if the cash bundle were in hundreds instead of mostly twenties, that would put the satchel’s value more around a quarter of a million. That might get Shep to give him some wiggle room. But would Shep really believe that he had managed so big of a score? He’d find out soon, he thought, as they took the off-ramp for Azalea Estates Lane.
There was a half dozen bikes in the parking lot and their posse would double that. The lunch crowd was gone, and those that remained were Shep’s men who would hang out until given orders. A few cars and light trucks were around the side of the old barn away from the road. Rusty beaters all, those vehicles would belong to the saloon staff doing cleanup. Rebel looked up at the square window with the sign that hung in the middle as they entered the gravel lot, and wondered if Shep was watching their approach. Of course, he was watching. Game time, he thought. Green flag.
K-9 Outlaw: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 1 Page 20
