I didn’t answer. I let him read the intent in my eyes, gave him a few seconds to prepare, then I charged at him. Jethro was a good fighter, we all were, but he was better than most of us. Being the oldest and spending a good part of his youth fucking around with the Wraiths, he learned to fight fierce and dirty. But he’d taught me all his tricks long ago; and his fight now wasn’t fueled by weeks of frustration, of dealing with biker threats and Jessica James’s confession I could do nothing about.
Perhaps he was trying to defend himself against my assault, but that didn’t deter me any.
We crashed around the living room, banging into walls, sending picture frames falling to the floor. He had me in a headlock and I used the position to elbow him in the ribs, then administer a kidney punch as he struggled to contain me.
My nose was bleeding and I took satisfaction in the sight of his split lip when we were interrupted by a harsh whisper. “What are y’all thinking?”
We glanced up in unison. Cletus’s furious expression had an instantly sobering effect. He stood on the stairs, looking as upset as I’d ever seen him, and loud-whispered down at us. “Making a big ruckus at five in the morning? Making a mess of things? On Thanksgiving? Today is turkey day! Plus you know how Billy needs his beauty sleep, otherwise he’ll be whining at us ’til dinner. I don’t want to listen to that swill on my day off. And besides, you interrupted my quiet time.”
Jethro grimaced, shooting me a dirty stare—which I returned—and loud-whispered his response, “Sorry, Cletus.”
Cletus’s hands were on his hips and he gave us both a hard look, his eyes sticking to me a bit longer than Jethro. “Take your fight outside.”
I nodded, staggering to the front door and whispering contritely, “We will.”
“And now you owe me pancakes, Duane Faulkner Winston,” Cletus added with a reprimanding whisper. “Blueberry pancakes.” Then he pivoted and disappeared down the upstairs hall.
I didn’t know what Cletus did during his quiet time, but Beau seemed to think it was yoga.
I opened the front door, then turned and gestured for Jethro to exit the house.
“You first.” He lifted his chin, covered with three weeks’ worth of unkempt beard. His hands were still balled into fists. He’d never been the trusting sort; then again, I had just attacked him in our living room.
I shrugged and exited to the porch, walking to the far corner. I waited until he followed and shut the door before saying, “You’ve always been a selfish asshole.”
Jethro nodded once, working his jaw back and forth; his steps were measured as he crossed to me. “Everybody knows that. And you always could start an argument in an empty house. Now why don’t you tell me specifically what I did to inspire such an unforgettable welcome home?”
“Traps,” I growled, closing the remaining distance between us and keeping my voice low. “You installed traps in four cars, for the Iron Wraiths, so they could run drugs without getting caught.”
Jethro’s eyes widened even as his brow pulled low. “How do you—”
“Because, dummy, they videotaped the whole thing. And now Repo is exploiting your shitty decisions as blackmail. He wants to use the Winston Brothers Auto Shop as their new chop shop, or else he’s sending you to federal prison.”
“Oh shit…” Jethro said on a shocked and defeated exhale, then sunk to the rocking chair to his left. I watched dispassionately as his elbows came to his knees and he buried his face in his hands.
I was quiet, something I knew how to do well, and waited for my brother to process reality.
“Did you do it? Did you agree?” He didn’t lift his head, so his words were spoken to the wooden porch floor.
“No. We’ve been stalling.”
Jethro’s shoulders rose and fell, and he nodded. “Good. Good.” He was silent for a beat, then asked, “And Cletus doesn’t have a plan?”
“No. Cletus doesn’t know.”
Jethro lifted his head from his hands, his eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean Cletus doesn’t know? You didn’t tell Cletus?”
“No, Jethro. I didn’t tell Cletus. Why would I want to bring him into this godawful mess of yours if he can keep his hands clean? Isn’t it bad enough that Beau and I have to deal with it?”
My oldest brother jumped to his feet. “Duane, Cletus installed the traps.”
Now he’d surprised me. I straightened from the wooden beam where I’d been leaning and stared at him. He was half smiling.
“Come again?”
“Cletus was the one to install the traps in those cars, not me. Do you think I’d be able to install those contraptions? Did you see how they work? You have to…” He appeared to be searching his memory for the description. “You have to wire them just so—where they won’t open unless the car is off, but the key is in the ignition, and the seatbelt is fastened, and there’s a hurricane in Florida, and no beer left in the fridge, and everyone’s favorite dessert is banana cream pie—or some such complicated nonsense.”
I was still stuck on the fact that Cletus—not Jethro—had been the one to install the traps, too stuck to admire the genius of how they worked.
“So…Cletus knows? He knows all about this? How you got out of the Wraiths?”
Jethro nodded. “Yeah. When I decided enough was enough, and those biker boys told me what I needed to do, the cost of my freedom, the first person I thought of was Cletus.”
I frowned at my brother. “Was he there? When you showed them how the traps work?”
“No. He installed the traps, showed me how to use them. I went to the Wraiths on my own, took credit for the installations. I was trying to minimize his involvement.”
“So he doesn’t know they’re being used to smuggle drugs?”
Jethro made a sound in the back of his throat and shifted on his feet. “I mean, he probably guessed it. I knew, of course, even before the Wraiths told me so. Why else would they want secret traps?”
“But on the video you start cussing them out when they tell you.”
“Because I had plausible deniability up until that point. Once they told me, and I knew for sure, I became an accomplice. That’s why I was so pissed off. If they didn’t tell me, then I could always claim ignorance.”
Jethro was good at that, claiming ignorance, shifting blame. Or he used to be, before he got himself straight.
“We need to tell Cletus,” Jethro said with a kind of certainty that gave me my first glimmer of hope. “He’ll definitely know what to do.”
* * *
We took turns in the downstairs bathroom wiping blood from our faces.
I walked into the kitchen once I was finished assessing the damage and rehanging fallen pictures. I found Jethro making coffee and icing his lip. Thus, after grabbing myself a bag of peas for my eye, I set to work making enough blueberry pancakes to feed a small army.
Without prompting, Jethro good-naturedly related his adventures trekking the Appalachian Trail. I was amazed how he was able to keep from fretting about the Iron Wraiths’s blackmail attempt.
I’d been twisted up, either thinking about how to outsmart the Iron Wraiths, or debating what to do about Jess. Or counting the hours until I could see her again. Or trying to figure out how to get her alone. Or wondering how the hell I was going to survive without her. Thus, Jethro’s tall tales were a welcome distraction.
We had to wait until Cletus emerged before approaching him. Having interrupted his quiet time earlier, I had no desire to instigate his wrath further. Cletus’s retaliation was always unanticipated and devious. He was a fan of polite revenge, knowing how to get his point across with very little fuss.
We both stilled when we heard footsteps on the stairs, and Jethro poked his head out of the doorway.
“What the hell? What happened to you?”
Recognizing Billy’s voice, my shoulders sagged and I turned back to the griddle. Jethro didn’t answer. Instead he walked back into the kitchen and reclaimed his spot at the kit
chen table.
Billy entered the kitchen seconds later, his eyes moving from the bruise high on Jethro’s cheek to the cut on his lip. “Did that happen on the trail?”
“Yeah. I was assaulted by a gang of ninja raccoons.” Jethro took a sip of his coffee.
Billy gave him another long look, then turned to the coffee. But he stopped again when he saw my face and the less-than subtle swelling around my eye.
He lifted an eyebrow, glanced between the two of us, then left the kitchen without his coffee, saying as he went, “Never mind, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. But do let me know when the hotcakes are ready. And there better be a turkey today, because I already made the stuffing, and something or someone is getting stuffed.”
“Getting the turkey was Cletus’s job this year,” I called after him.
No sooner did Billy leave than Beau shuffled in, scratching his balls and yawning. “Do I smell pancakes?”
“Yes.” I nodded, then tilted my head toward Jethro. “You also smell skunk.”
Beau lazily glanced where I indicated, then did a double take when he saw our oldest brother. Beau was suddenly awake. His brow pulling low and the set of his mouth grim as he studied Jethro, perhaps trying to determine whether or not he was going to be sensible or violent. Prior to Jethro’s miraculous reformation, seeing him with a black and blue face was a normal occurrence. But since he’d changed his ways a few years ago, he hadn’t come home with more than a scratch.
“What happened to your face?” Beau finally asked, and not kindly.
“Your twin happened to my face.”
Beau nodded, his features relaxing, then crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine. “Good. Saves me the trouble of doing it myself. So what’s the plan, Duane?”
“We’re waiting for Cletus to get up.”
Beau halted his coffee pouring and glanced between me and Jethro. “I thought we weren’t going to involve him.”
“He already knows. He did the initial installations.”
“Well I’ll be…” Beau shook his head, his eyes losing focus someplace over my shoulder. Then he abruptly snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. Ain’t no way Jethro could have installed those traps. I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out earlier.”
Just then, Cletus walked into the kitchen, obviously still in a temper. “Don’t speak to me until I’ve had my hotcakes. I’m still angry at both y’all.”
Jethro jumped up from his chair, Beau set his coffee cup down on the counter with a loud thunk, and I straightened to attention. All of us were standing like statues staring at Cletus, wanting to speak but knowing better than to disobey his request. It took him a bit to notice our rigid readiness, but when he did, his eyes narrowed and bounced between the three of us.
“All right…I take that back. Y’all are making me nervous. Maybe somebody should tell me what’s going on.”
Chapter 24
“Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.”
Leigh Hunt
~Duane~
The four of us took our breakfast to the Quonset hut, escaping the house before Billy knew we were leaving. By some silent agreement, Jethro and Beau appointed me as the storyteller—likely because they both had a habit of extreme and unnecessary embellishment.
I explained the situation, provided the timeline, and described what steps we’d taken so far. All the while Cletus ate his pancakes and drank his coffee, nodding at intervals, and frowning at other intervals. For example, when I mentioned I’d enlisted Tina’s help, he scowled.
“Are you finished?” he asked at length, his eyes on my untouched plate.
“With the story or with my food?” My pancakes had gone cold, but I wasn’t hungry.
“Both.”
“Yes. You can have them.” I passed him my plate and rubbed my hand over my face. I was tired and the thought of eating made me nauseous. But it was more than the exhaustion. Everything hurt, and not because of my fist fight with Jethro.
Cletus took three bites, making us all wait in suspense, and then asked, “What I want to know is, why didn’t you come to me in the first place? And also, how do you get these to be so darn fluffy? It’s like eating a blueberry flavored cloud of awesome.”
“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to make you an accomplice, just in case we had to follow through,” Beau answered for me.
“I see. Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and concern for my wellbeing,” he said, using his most formal tone. Then added, “But that was really stupid of y’all.”
“So what are we going to do, Cletus?” Jethro got right to the point, giving our brother a charming smile despite his split lip.
“Nothing to do.” Cletus shrugged, sipped his coffee, and then set it down.
Beau and I exchanged looks of despair. If Cletus didn’t have a plan then we were going to have to rely on Tina.
Cletus must’ve seen our expressions and understood what they meant, because he added, “Let me clarify that last statement. There’s nothing to do because it’s already been done. In these cases, federal law requires the installer to inform local law enforcement when traps are suspected of being used for illegal purposes. The police have already been informed about those secret compartments because I informed them years ago, when I first installed the traps.”
Now Beau and I exchanged looks of astonishment. I don’t think either of us were capable of speech at that moment.
However, Jethro narrowed his eyes on Cletus and sounded half insulted. “What do you mean the police already know? Did you rat me out?”
Cletus tsked at Jethro and scrunched his nose like my oldest brother smelled badly. “No. Well…” His eyes moved up and to the right, as though reconsidering his answer. “Not in the way you mean. I informed the police when I installed the traps, because I suspected they’d be used for illegal purposes. Whether or not the police actually know about the traps is a different matter entirely.”
I was too tired for Cletus’s riddles. “Cletus, would you just speak plainly? What did you do? And what does it mean for us? Should we be worried about the Iron Wraiths?”
“I’ll answer your questions in reverse. First, you do not need to worry about the Iron Wraiths. They have no power over you, Jethro, or me, or Beau for that matter. In fact we are in a position to blackmail them, should we so choose.”
“Well, thank heavens.” Beau sat back in his chair and heaved a loud sigh of obvious relief.
“Second, what this means for ‘us’,” Cletus used air quotes around the word us, “is that we should—the four of us—go to the Dragon Biker Bar and meet with Repo, or even Razor himself. One of us will need to explain the situation, i.e. the Winston boys are immune to their threats, so they’ll quit their harassing and stay on their side of the school yard.”
“You want to talk to Razor?” Jethro asked like Cletus was certifiable.
Razor was the Iron Wraiths’s president and one truly dangerous motherfucker.
“No. I did not say that. I said one of ‘us’.” Again, he used air quotes around us, but this time his eyes slid to me and he looked at me with meaning.
“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “You can’t mean me?”
Now all three of them were looking at me, and they were nodding.
“It makes sense,” Beau said encouragingly. I was not encouraged.
“It does,” Jethro agreed. “Razor hates my guts already, because of…well, the past. He doesn’t know Beau, but he can spot a bullshitter a mile away.”
“Are you calling me a bullshitter?” Beau frowned at Jethro.
“Yes. Yes, I am,” Jethro admitted smoothly.
“Okay. Just making sure. Carry on.” Beau’s smile was back and he looked quite satisfied, likely because it took one to know one.
“And Cletus…well, no offense, Cletus, but Razor won’t respond well to your style, either.”
“Agreed.” Cletus nodded once and took another bite of my cold
pancakes. When he spoke next, he spoke around a full mouth. “It has to be Duane. He’s abrupt, irritable, and those charlatans don’t scare him any. He’s perfect.”
It was my turn to exhale loudly, shaking my head, but not willing to argue the point just yet. We’d have plenty of time to debate this later. Right now I wanted answers. “So, what did you do, Cletus? How did you inform the police without them knowing?”
“You know how I help with those mail sorter machines at the police stations and the central office? I maintain them for three counties. Just one of the many ways I spend my time helping the citizens of Tennessee.”
“Yes. We know,” Jethro answered for all of us.
“Well, funny thing about those machines. Letters get stuck and unstuck all the time. When a machine breaks and needs fixing, I sometimes find letters that are years old.”
Beau and I quickly shared a glance. “Are you telling me that you planted a letter in one of those machines? Down at the station?” he asked.
Cletus shook his head. “No. Of course not. I didn’t plant anything in any of the machines. But I did slip a certified letter in with a stack of old mail, mail found in one of those machines during a service call, and then subsequently placed into storage unopened. I even know the box and shelf number where it’s kept. I believe I even have the receipt for the certified letter upstairs someplace.”
Again, Beau and I were rendered speechless. And this time Jethro was as well. The three of us sat in stunned silence for several seconds, watching Cletus eat my pancakes like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Jethro stirred from our trance first. “Well then, I guess Duane will just explain to Razor that the police have a certified letter in their possession detailing the existence of the traps…?”
“That’s right,” Cletus agreed. “I included pictures of the cars, their VIN numbers, and the traps. As well, I described the sequence for opening the compartments. I have a copy of the documentation in my room…someplace.”
Fall in Love Book Bundle: Small Town Romance Box Set Page 31
