Again, keeping his voice low, Duncan said, “Why waste the time? Let’s hose these three assholes and get on our way.”
He lowered the H&K and the two guys to the left started crying, begging, sniffling, but Gus seemed to be keeping his cool. Not bad for a panty-sniffer.
Cameron said, “Hey, bro, let’s be cool, all right? I’m sure these two guys were just along for the ride, am I right? They don’t deserve to get whacked.”
One of the guys dropped to his knees, begging some more, but Duncan tuned out the pleas. He was still looking at Gus Spooner, who looked defiant, standing up against the disabled pickup truck in front of the busted-in chalet.
Duncan said, “You mean, they didn’t know the rules of the road? I find that hard to believe. They look … well, I was going to say they looked pretty bright, but no, they look as dumb as a bag of hammers. Still, even as stupid as they are, I can’t believe they didn’t know the rules about crystal meth in this county.”
Cameron strolled over to his younger brother. “Maybe so, but hey, shouldn’t we show them mercy? I mean, if they were stupid, they shouldn’t be punished. Much.”
Duncan shook his head. “Cripes, I don’t know …”
The one kneeling on the ground yelled out, “Rules? We didn’t know anything about any rules? Please … tell us … we didn’t fucking know!”
Duncan cackled. “Okay. Here’s the rules. We’re the Crowley brothers. We don’t care if you steal from the town, or steal from your mom, or steal from the food pantry. We also don’t care if you deal in grass or sell booze to teenage girls or boys or anything like that. But crystal meth … nobody here sells it, deals it, or even thinks of cooking it around here.”
Gus spat on the ground. “Why?”
The guy who wasn’t kneeling, who had a wisp of a goatee, said in a strangled voice, “Gus, are you so fucking stupid? Leave it alone!”
Gus looked at his friends. “Fuck, no. This is private property, up in the woods. Why should you give a shit what we’re doing here?”
Cameron said, “It’s enough for us to say no, dipshit.”
Duncan went up to Gus, put the H&K barrel against his stomach. “Let me tell you, then, Gus, what the deal is, just to expand on what my brother said. You may find this odd, but we and the law enforcement community agree on one thing: crystal meth is pure poison. People using crystal meth get so wired and strung out that they’d sell their pre-teen daughters to whoredom for another hit, or shoot up a village store to get to the cash register. When law enforcement finds out about people making and dealing crystal meth, they come down like the wrath of God upon anyone and everyone who’s dealing with it. My brother and I, we want local law enforcement to worry about speeding tickets and game laws. Not meth. ’Cause if they spread a big enough net to look for meth, they may take a good look at us in the process. Have I made myself clear?”
Gus’s two friends betrayed him like the Italians did to the Nazis in 1944, nodded and said yes, no problem, we didn’t know about the rules, we’ll never do this again, you can count on us.
But Gus was proving to be a hard case. Cameron said, “Gus, care to say anything?”
“You got me this one night, I’ll give you that,” he said sourly. “But you can make tons of money with just a little effort and cold medicine. So maybe I’ll start up again. Why the fuck not? Who elected you kings of the county?”
Cameron said, “Maybe we’ll light off the chemicals in that dump, burn it to the ground. Local fire department will see what’s left in there and let the State Police in on your little secret.”
“Fuck,” Gus said, “go ahead. My dad, he hasn’t been up here in years, it’s a piece of shit. He keeps on saying he’ll come up and renovate the place, winterize it, so we can have nice family memories one of these days. So burn it. Hell, I’ll even help you. Nobody will be able to connect this to me, unless you rat me out. And I hear the Crowley brothers aren’t rats.”
Duncan laughed. “Bro, Mr. Spooner is proving to be one tough little son-of-a-gun, isn’t he?”
Cameron said, “Surely is.”
He put the H&K against the side of Gus’s head. “Why not splatter what passes for brains here against the truck and call it a night?”
Gus winced. “You got two witnesses, that’s why.”
“Not if I pull the trigger a few more times.”
More shouts, demands, yells from the other two men. With defiance, Gus said, “You can’t do this to me. My dad is chief selectmen in Crowdin. If we get killed or get disappeared, he’ll have the State Police come in and investigate. They dig deep enough, your names will come up. So I’m protected.”
“Gee, I guess you are protected from being murdered,” Duncan said. “You’re one lucky, lucky boy.” Duncan started laughing, harder and harder, and Gus’s two former friends sidled away, like they wanted to be far away from whatever was going to happen next.
Duncan suddenly stopped laughing. “Cam, my dear brother, will you do me the distinct honor and favor of freeing Mr. Spooner from his bonds?”
Cameron stepped forward, snapped open his folding knife, and spun Gus around. With one quick flash of his hand, the plastic flex cuffs were cut free. Gus rubbed at his wrists and Duncan went up to him, hammered the stock end of the H&K against his crotch. Gus howled and fell to his knees.
Duncan went over to the woodpile, rummaged around in the tools, found what he could use. He slung the H&K over his shoulder, grabbed Gus’s hair, dragged him kicking and wrestling over to the picnic table. He struggled and tried to fight back, but Duncan kept his grip firm on the young man’s greasy hair.
At the picnic table, he made sure Gus was sitting up, his back against the near bench. Duncan said, “Which hand do you use to jerk off?”
“What? Hunh? The fuck you asking me?”
Duncan pulled the hair tighter. “Listen carefully. The hand you use to jerk off, spank the monkey, choke the chicken. When you take your sweet chubby girlfriend out for a wild night of McDonald’s cheeseburgers followed by a rental DVD of the latest Adam Sandler opus, and all you get out of it is some deep kissing and boobie fondling, what do you do when you’re left high and dry? Which hand do you use, Gus?”
“My … my right … I’m right handed.”
Duncan did it all quickly, so Gus wouldn’t resist, so his two friends would be even more impressed on how their night of amateur pharmaceutical development was turning out. He flattened out Gus’s left hand, put a long nail on the top of the hand, and with one hard and swift motion, pounded the nail through his hand with a small hammer.
Gus screamed and screamed, his voice as high-pitched as a girl. Duncan stepped away. Of the other two guys, one was leaning back against the VW, like he was afraid he was going to faint, and the other was bent over at his waist, vomiting into the dirt. Gus’s screams started to fade away, as he panted and gulped and panted, his other hand gingerly touching its wounded companion.
Duncan knelt down, grabbed Gus by the chin. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are protected from being killed in this county. But that’s one get-out-of-stupidity-free card that can only be used for that one thing—sudden death—which leaves lots of possibilities. Like being a live model for the local production of Jesus Christ Superstar. Am I now getting through to you, Gus? Am I? Hell, I even was nice to you, letting you keep your right hand in one piece.”
Gus was sobbing, nodding, writhing against Duncan’s touch. Duncan said, “Now, just so we’re clear on what you’ve agreed to do, you’re going to leave meth making to any place else in the world that’s not Washington County. Right?”
Another nod. Duncan said, “Tsk, tsk, Gus. I may not require a notarized statement, but I do require some words. So give me the words. You’ve got two feet and one more hand available.”
“Please … please don’t hurt me anymore … I promise … no more meth making … nothing �
��”
Duncan turned his head to the cabin. “That’s delightful. So I’m going to ask one more favor. All right?”
More nods, more snorting sobs. “Yes … anything you want … anything …”
“You and your buds. Clean that cabin out. It’s an insult to your dad, an insult to the woods. Be careful, too, that stuff inside there can burn from just a spark. Miracle it hasn’t blown you up already.”
Duncan got up, motioned to the two supposed friends. “You guys gonna help Gus here clean out that cabin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You bet.”
“Will either of you ever do anything to do with crystal meth in this county, ever again?”
Both violently shook their heads no, like they were life-sized bobble dolls, Item Number 1412 from the Rural Nitwit Supply Catalogue.
“I’m also sure the thought of going to the police or anyone else tonight is out of the question. Like that ad for Las Vegas says, What happens on Town Road Twelve stays on Town Road Twelve. Correct, gentlemen?”
Another series of vigorous head shakes. “Fantastic,” Duncan said. “Hope we meet again under better circumstances, but I shan’t hold my breath. Cameron?”
“Yes?”
“It appears our work here tonight is done, wouldn’t you say?”
Cameron slung his H&K MP5 over his shoulder. “I’d say so.”
Duncan started back down the driveway. Gus called out, “Please … oh God, please … my hand … will you help me with my hand?”
He looked to Gus’s alleged friends. “Guys? Feel like helping a brother over there?”
Neither one of them moved. Duncan said, “All right, but just this once …”
He found the discarded hammer, picked it up, and using the claw end, yanked the nail out.
Gus screamed again.
Back at the truck Duncan slowly stripped off the gear, suddenly tired, sweaty, and thirsty. Both doors were open and the switched-on dome light now illuminated the interior. His brother got done ahead of him and Duncan asked, “What do you think?”
“Wanna be more specific? Can’t read your fucking mind, you know.”
Duncan said, “About Gus and his pals. What do you think? Are they going to play nice and leave crystal meth to the professionals?”
Cameron opened up the glove box, took out a little cleaning cloth, tore it open, and rubbed it on his hands and face. “Those two buddies of his, sure, I can see them running out and never playing again. But Gus … I think I was wrong about him. He may work pumping gas and be a panty-sniffer, but tonight, he had brass ones. Didn’t back down until you stuck his hand like that. Plus, you humiliated him in front of his friends. Could be trouble later.”
“What kind of trouble? Leave us off his dad’s Christmas card list?”
“How the fuck should I know? All I know is that you insulted him, wounded him, and he might do some payback down the road.”
Duncan stopped in the middle of taking off his vest. “Mind telling me what’s got your panties in the proverbial bunch?”
Cameron said, “Bro, there’s psycho, and there’s real psycho. I didn’t know if you were playing tonight, or if it was real. Either way, it was some scary shit.”
“Was supposed to be scary,” Duncan said. “It doesn’t matter if you or those three up there are wondering if it was real or not. What matters is if I do.”
He shrugged off the vest, winced. Cameron said, “You hurtin’?”
“My shoulders are aching some,” he said, putting his gear behind the driver’s seat, covering everything with a plaid blanket. “Nights like this, I think I’m getting too old for this nonsense. You, too, my friend.” Duncan got into the truck, turned the key, powered her right up and let the lights suddenly flash up the dirt road.
His brother got in, slammed the door. “Tell me that’s what this whole delivery thing is all about. One big score to settle things so we don’t have to be out hassling three morons who only have the skills not to blow themselves up while cooking meth.”
“That’s part of it, and before you ask, I swear, Cameron, all will be made clear at the right time. Trust me.”
Cameron said, “I trust you, Duncan. I just want to make sure you’re gonna do things worthy of it.”
They backed out down the road, and then drove back to Turner. The interior of the truck smelled of sweat, exertion, and sourness. Duncan knew where the sourness was coming from, and it was from the older man sitting next to him. Poor Cameron. In their long brotherhood, they had gotten along most of the time, with Cameron settling early into the role of the hardier if not as business-orientated older brother. Sure, there had been disagreements over the years, but nothing serious, nothing like this current score that was digging at Cameron, like battery acid slowly corroding away a vital connection. Duncan knew what was being corroded; it was their lifelong reliance on each other, and Duncan felt bad about what he had done.
The road curved to the right as they traveled through the night. Trees hugged both sides of the road, with turnoffs here and there, marking night roads that led up into the dark hills. No other traffic was visible. He remembered when they were younger, driving like this during that summer when he had gotten that baseball scholarship to UNH, before the car accident. Warm night and the windows down and a strange oddity in the atmosphere, so they could pick up hard rock stations from Cleveland and Cincinnati as they rolled, mile upon mile, down the night roads. Vows and promises and plans being exchanged, being discussed. Duncan would be the first to school, with an education that would set him up—or if the ghosts of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig approved, a pro career in the majors. All along, he would be planning for Cameron to take up the rear, going to school as well, explore that love of astronomy.
That had been something back then, when everything seemed possible, and with a suddenness that surprised him, he now decided to spill it all to his older brother. The chances of it all going bad, all going south, wasn’t worth the chilly silence next to him. That innocent summer back then, when everything had been new and bright, well, things abruptly lurched and changed for the worse. Mom and Dad dying, their wills screwed up, and that late-afternoon drive with Dad’s law partner, Duncan determining to make it all right. The accident. The injury. Everything crumbling. Cameron going away to state prison for a stretch for beating up a guy who had been abusing his wife, said wife being Cameron’s girlfriend at the time … but they had hung in there, the two of them, making a life for themselves in Turner.
He took a deep breath. Enough. Time to come clean.
“Cameron?”
No reply.
“Cameron?” he said louder. “Look, I need—”
His brother said, “You need to look in your rearview mirror, like now.”
Duncan glanced up.
Blue strobe lights from a police cruiser, right behind them.
fifteen
In a second-floor guest room at the Rogers’ Bed and Breakfast, Zach Morrow stretched out on his bed, history book by John Keegan in his hands, thinking he should have put a couple of bath towels on the fine Amish quilt before lying down. It had been a long time since he had been in such a luxurious room. The attached bathroom was about as big as the living room back at his destroyed double-wide, and the bed was soft, huge, and comfortable. In a polished wooden hutch at the foot of the bed, a hi-def television was deftly hidden away. Overall, the room smelled pleasant, of cut flowers or a woman’s freshly washed hair.
He crossed his feet, thought some. This room was a world away from the sawdust-covered floor of the Flight Deck Bar & Grill. When he had parked his pickup truck at the rear of the bed and breakfast—a restored Victorian-style home with lots of turrets and fancy gingerbread trim—he felt out of place next to the BWMs, Audis, and Volvos. But the woman with black-rimmed glasses and a cheerful smile checking him in had been sweet and kind
. She became even more sweet and kind when he had mentioned Duncan Crowley’s name, which earned him a ten-percent room discount.
He breathed in the scent of the room. What now? He felt he had done well, meeting with Duncan, making an impression, and having Duncan look him over. No doubt the lovely Tanya Gibbs thought he was moving too fast, but so what? It wasn’t her butt on the line up here in the northern reaches of Washington County. It was him. By God, he’d get the job done, no matter what.
Zach swung off the bed, went to one of the duffel bags, took out the disposable cellphone he had used earlier. One more call and it’d be time to dump it. He had a few more hidden away. He dialed a number and waited and waited, until an older man answered, the same man as before.
“Yes?” the man asked.
“It’s me, Zach,” he said, repeating the practiced words, knowing the coded message that was being sent south. “Really, can’t you help me out?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Please,” Zach said. “You know what happened to me wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all.”
The older man said, “Please don’t call me again,” and then hung up.
He put the phone down, and returned to the bed. His stomach grumbled. He hadn’t had dinner yet. But still he waited.
Duncan Crowley knew he was here, knew he needed a job, and sitting still was the best thing for him to do.
sixteen
Duncan slowed down his Chevy Colorado pickup, switched on the turn indicator, the police cruiser staying right on his tail. He lowered the window. The night air was cool. Cameron said, his voice tight, “Whatever happens tonight, bro, I’m not going back to prison. Not ever. So you keep that in mind.”
Duncan said, “Be cool, Cam. All right? Maybe I have a burnt-out taillight. Or the rear license plate fell off. No need to get wound up.”
Night Road Page 13
