by Don Bruns
“True. I think he was helping himself as well.”
“So now we’re somewhat obligated to him.”
“Sort of.”
“What if he lied?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t trust him. You know he’s a scam artist. He’s obviously selling stolen shoes and who knows what else, yet you blindly believe him when he says the car was FBI. You blindly believe him when he tells you that you’re on the computer accused of being a plant.”
“You think he made it up?”
“I think he could have.”
“To what end?”
“Maybe he works for the full-timers. Maybe he’s trying to scare you off. You know, it makes sense. It makes sense that the FBI would be following this little sideshow because there’s a chance that someone here had something to do with the killing of a senator. That part makes sense.”
I agreed. How the hell had we surrounded ourselves with these people and gotten into this situation? It was like a fantasy. A fantasy nightmare.
“But what if there really is an FBI informant?”
“It’s not us. We’ve determined that James would never do that.”
“What if it’s Daron Styles?”
Now I hadn’t thought of that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
They weren’t going to get two of us without a fight.
“We’re safe if we stick together.” I wasn’t at all sure that was true, but saying it made me feel better.
The first place I thought about was the big yellow tent. We walked in, trying to see anything in the cavernous canvas interior. It was almost two in the morning, the moon was behind a cloud, and there was no light inside that yellow monstrosity at all. He could have been there, but we wouldn’t have seen him. The second place I thought of was the little camper village. Crayer had a tent there, and Crayer was on guard duty. That might be a perfect place to hide someone.
There wasn’t much light there either, just the dark shadows of maybe twenty campers and tents set up along a row of trees. One of the campers had a dim lamp that set out an eerie glow, but that was it.
As we approached the area I heard a slow rumble, like a dog growling.
“Hold on,” I whispered softly, my voice raspy and my throat getting sore. The sound was coming from a small camper, the windows open. I listened carefully and there it was again, a low rumble. And again. And again. Maybe a guard dog.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go any farther.” I could feel sweat running down my chest.
“Oh, for crying out loud. It’s just somebody snoring.” She pulled me away and we walked down to Crayer’s tent.
We walked past four poles and a tarp where someone had piled some canned goods on a table, two more tiny aluminum pull-behind trailers that looked about the size of our bedroom in Carol City, and three brightly colored tents. Mint green, burgundy, and a powder blue.
As we got closer to Crayer’s tent, Em squeezed my hand tighter. “He’s out here somewhere.”
“James?”
“Your friend, Mr. Crayer.”
“Yeah.”
“I suppose he might find us.”
“We’re not breaking any laws.”
In her soft voice, whispering, she said, “That doesn’t seem to make any difference, does it?”
It was possible. The village was in an open area, the big revival tent back to our left, but in the dark, Crayer could come out of nowhere and I did remember that he carried a gun. I was constantly aware of that fact.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Crayer’s tent was an ugly military green. It was medium sized compared to the other tents, and small compared to a couple of the larger camper/trailers. The flap was pulled down and tied off on the front. Not much of a lock, but I figured that the people in the village watched out for each other. There had to be some valuables in each abode, and the inhabitants probably kept a sharp eye out for anyone who looked suspicious. Hey, I sell security systems. I understand how it works.
“This is it?”
“This is it. I’ve watched him go back here several times.” My throat felt raw. I was anxious to speak in a normal voice again.
Em kept her hand in mine. While I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the situation we found ourselves in, I was pleased that she was keeping so close. There was something about being in a dangerous situation that seemed to foster intimacy.
“The flap is tied down.”
“Couldn’t be tied down from the outside if he was on the inside.”
Even in the dark I could see her smile. “Good point, kemo sabe.”
“But, that doesn’t mean that someone isn’t inside.”
I felt her grip tighten. “Daron? James?”
“Can you keep a look out while I check inside?”
“Yeah.”
“Em —”
“What?”
“No falling asleep.”
She let go of my hand and punched my arm.
I leaned down and untied the two strips of canvas. Slowly I raised the flap. Behind it was a see-through mesh cover closed by a zipper. It was too dark to see beyond. I slowly unzipped the mesh and parted the halves.
“Do you see anything?” She spoke in a hoarse whisper.
“Too dark.”
“Let your eyes adjust.”
I did. There was a little moonlight and starlight from the outside, as well as a soft light coming from a trailer parked nearby. As I stared into the tent, my eyes started to adjust. Not great vision, but I could make out a cot and sleeping bag. They were empty.
I stepped inside. The tent was too small to stand up, and I could make out a couple of bags, probably containing clothing and personal effects. That was it. A cot and a couple of bags.
I stepped back out, zipping up the mesh.
“Big disappointment.”
“You were seriously hoping to find one of them?”
“Would have been nice.” I tied the canvas strips down, duplicating the knot that Crayer had used.
She grabbed my hand again. “So where do we go now?”
“Let’s try the truck one more time. I keep thinking that James would go there when he couldn’t find us.”
“If he’s capable.” I felt a tremor in her hand. “Oh, God, Skip. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even think things like that.”
We walked back toward the truck, keeping an eye out for any of the security guys.
“Skip, they could have taken James and Daron off the grounds.”
“Could have.”
“If they’re afraid of a backlash from Cashdollar’s congregation, they certainly wouldn’t do something to them here, would they?”
“Something?”
“I don’t know. Beat them up or —”
“Or kill them?” As soon as I said it I felt her shudder.
“They wouldn’t. Not here.”
I thought about it. They had call girls visit the poker group. They played high-stakes games of chance, although I questioned whether there was much chance in those games, and Cashdollar preached against intolerance by being intolerant. But murdering someone on his own campus? Would they kill James or Styles?
“Forget I said it.” She tugged my arm, hurrying to get back to the truck.
“You know the story about my first revival meeting?”
“You’ve told me.”
“And the day after?”
“Something about the seventeen-year-old girl?”
“The something was they found her dead body in plain sight. Probably in this same area, so I don’t think they have a problem killing people right here on the grounds.”
We walked in silence. The tent loomed in front of us, a huge mountain of a structure. I could see the truck, sitting on its four brand-new tires. Maybe James would be there. Maybe Daron would step out and everything would be back to normal. Well, nothing was going to be normal again.
“I’ve got to use the toilet.” Em nodded in the direction of the portable
johns.
“Go behind the truck.”
“I’m not going to go behind the truck. I’ll just be gone a minute.”
“Em. It’s not safe. For either of us. Just go up by the tent. I won’t watch.”
“You couldn’t see anything anyway. I’m going to the Porta-Johns. I’ll be able to find my way.”
“Em —”
“I’m going.” She started walking.
“I’m right behind you.” I took two steps in her direction.
“Go back and see if James is in the truck. I’ll be all right.”
I turned and walked to the truck. The moon was in and out of the clouds and when it was hidden the night was black. It took that moment to hide, and I wished with everything in me that I’d followed her. I shouted out in a coarse whisper. “James.”
There was nothing. No response.
I looked across the way, and Em was gone from sight. No James. No Em. Five feet from the truck I decided to walk back to the portable restrooms and stand guard for Em. I turned, took a step, felt my foot hit something solid, and pitched forward. It was the last thing I could remember until I started to drown.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
There’s a form of water torture that soldiers use on the enemy when they want to break them and get important information. I think it’s called waterboarding. It has something to do with blindfolding the enemy, and then pouring water on his face. I’m not sure I have it all down, but I’d always heard that when you can’t see anything and water is in your face, you can’t shake the sensation that you’re drowning. While it’s not supposed to be dangerous, it is supposed to be very scary.
I can now tell you first hand, that when you can’t see, when everything is pitch black, and when someone is pouring water in your face, you feel like you’re drowning. I can tell you first hand that it is very, very scary.
I came up sputtering, gurgling, coughing, and swearing.
“My God, man. Are you all right?”
I was not all right. I wiped at my face and my hand came away, dripping. Water and something thick and slippery. I brushed at my forehead and winced from the pain. It was a gash, not too deep, but it hurt. Man did it hurt.
The light hit me in the eyes, and someone was wiping my face with a cloth.
“Don’t move. Let me clean the cut out.”
I was sitting, the cut stinging as someone dabbed.
“Man, I thought you were out for good.” Daron Styles pressed hard on the wound. “Can you put your hand up there and hold the cloth in place?”
I reached up and held the cloth against the bleeding laceration. “What the hell happened?”
The light played around my face, then dropped to the ground.
“You tripped.”
“On what?” My head ached, and I had that dizzy, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that you get when you’ve had too many beers.
“The suitcase. When you wouldn’t respond I got a pitcher of water from the truck and threw it on your face.”
“What the hell?”
“Hey, it worked. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”
The throbbing inside my skull was killing me. “The suitcase? One you took from the airport?”
“Yeah. I went through one of them in the car and found this flashlight. I brought the other one over here to the truck and was going to look through it using the flashlight. I only set the suitcase down for a minute to go take a leak. You picked that time to stumble over it.”
I kept the cloth tight against my head. “What the hell are you doing walking around? We saw you being dragged away from the office trailer.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate. Styles had been there, then he wasn’t. Two people seemed to be dragging someone from the trailer. And Em and I had both seen —
“Where is Em?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the only one I’ve seen.”
“We’ve got to look for her. And James.”
“Slow down, Skipper. You need to take it easy for a minute.”
I tried to stand, putting weight on my one hand while I pressed on my slashed forehead with the other. It didn’t work. I was too dizzy. I’d been in that shape before, but for an entirely different reason.
“I thought you were with her.”
What was I going to say? Here was a guy who’d given us all kinds of information, and I didn’t know if any of it was true. He’d said Em was being followed by the FBI. He’d said that we were in some notes kept by the hierarchy of Cashdollar’s empire. I saw him being dragged away after the break-in and here he was as if nothing had happened.
And Em thought he might be an FBI informer. I, on the other hand, thought he might be the killer. He’d already admitted to taking money from a dead man, Michael Bland, after the man had overdosed. And who knew if that was even true? He might have given Bland the drugs. I seriously didn’t think it was out of the question. It was hard to think things through with my head aching.
“Look, I’m sure she’s all right.”
I wasn’t so sure. “How long was I out?”
“I was gone only three or four minutes.”
His light played on the ground and reflected off the suitcase. It was open and clothes lay scattered on the ground.
“How you feeling?”
“How do you think I feel. You leave this crap here in the dark —”
“Man, I am so sorry.”
I wondered. One of James’s favorite movie quotes came to mind. It’s from a movie called The Ten Things I Hate About You. The quote is short and simple: “You can’t always trust the people you want to.” Right now, Daron was the only person in the world I wanted to trust. And I couldn’t. He might be the enemy, and I wasn’t ready to take that chance.
“Look, tell me where you last saw Em, and I’ll go look. Okay? I mean, this —” he swept his free hand as if to include my position on the ground and his spilled suitcase full of somebody else’s underwear and who knows what else, “this is my fault. Let me go find Em.” He swung the light up, blinding me again.
“Get the light out of my eyes.”
“Sorry.”
“Where do you think she went?”
I didn’t want him within ten feet of her.
“Skipper —”
I wasn’t going to tell him anything.
“Just tell me.”
“She’s right here.” The voice was over his left shoulder, and as he swung around, the light bounced off her golden hair. “And what the hell happened in the five minutes I’ve been gone?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“Apparently I can’t leave you alone for five minutes.” She shook her finger at me. “Skip, how do you get into so much trouble?”
Normally her cute sarcasm would charm me. This time it didn’t. For the second night in a row, I was spending time in some godforsaken campground, lying on the grass and wondering if I was ever again going to visit my crappy bed in Carol City, or ever feel the sting of a razor to shave off almost three days of growth on my face. “I work at it, okay.”
“Em, this is all my fault. Mea culpa. Mea culpa.” Daron tugged on the brim of his hat.
“Seriously, what happened?” The sarcasm was gone. Em was now all business. Gruff and ready to take on reality.
“Skip tripped. Hit his head on a rock.” As simple as that.
“Tripped on what?”
“Oh. My suitcase.” He motioned to the opened luggage, his flashlight playing on women’s underwear — a couple of bras, some panties, and what appeared to be a teddy.
“Your suitcase? Just one more thing about you that makes me very uneasy.”
Styles seemed to bristle. “What makes you uneasy? I’ve put myself at risk tonight to help you guys, to find out what’s going on here, and you have the nerve to say that?”
I tried again to stand. Em reached down, offering me her hand, and I slowly rose. The dizziness seemed to have gone, and a
lthough I was just a bit lightheaded, we walked to the truck. Em lifted the latch, raised the door, and we hoisted ourselves up to the bed, sitting with our legs dangling over the edge. Styles sat on the dew-damp grass and looked up at us.
“You came out of the office, took us around the tent, and you disappeared.”
I slowly removed the rag from my head. The white cloth was damp from the blood, but it felt like the flow had stopped.
“I can explain that.”
“Let’s hear it,” Em said.
“I went into the office and it was just like I said. The guard was crashed on the sofa.”
“Who was on duty?” I wanted to know.
“Dusty. He used to be a schoolteacher. Math or some science.”
“I know him.”
“Anyway, he’s asleep in the other room. So I sat down at the computer.” Styles lit a cigar and when the first smell of tobacco hit me, I could feel my head start to spin. I grabbed the edge of the truck bed and Em grabbed me.
“You okay?”
I wasn’t sure. I took a deep breath, more oxygen than smoke, and felt better.
“I turned it on, waited for it to boot up, made sure the speakers were unplugged —”
Em interrupted. “So it’s all supposed to be on the computer? I thought he and this Stan kept stuff on their organizers.”
“They do that too.”
“And where are the organizers? In a safe?”
“No. I guess they keep them on their persons. There isn’t any safe. After each service, an armored car pulls up around back and takes the offerings to the bank. No money spends any time here at all. At least that’s the way it was three years ago. I imagine they’ve got the same policies in effect.”
I could feel the skin on my head start to itch. The last thing I could do was scratch.
“So, you turned on the computer?” I was doubtful if anything he was telling us was the truth.
“I did.”
“You’ve never seen this computer before? And you were able to just go in and find all of this information?”
“It’s a long story, son, but I have been on that computer before.”
