by Hamel, B. B.
The neighborhood’s pretty diverse. Some houses are well kept and others are, well… not so much. As we get deeper in, more and more houses look like they don’t care much for basic home maintenance.
“Which one is it?” Allie whispers.
“I’m not sure,” I say, scanning the facades. “It could almost be any one of them.”
“He said it’s abandoned.”
“True, but look at these places.”
She lets out a little sigh. “Good point. Still, they don’t look empty. They have cars in their driveways.”
I grunt at that. “Okay. So we’re looking for one without cars.”
We roll onward, passing house after house. It’s after two in the morning and there’s nobody else around at all. I have my lights off and I’m navigating by the dim streetlights, but as we keep going, more and more of the lights are completely out. I pray that some stupid teenagers aren’t playing in the street right now or something.
We keep going and my eyes are peeled for a run-down house with no cars out front. As we turn a corner, I hear Allie take in a sharp breath.
“Rowan,” she says, nodding out her window.
I follow her gaze to her side of the street. Sure enough, sandwiched between two of the more kept houses on this stretch is a house with long messy grass, tape over the front door, boards in the window, and no cars parked anywhere near it.
I keep driving past it. I park a little ways down, far enough away that it’s not suspicious but close enough that I can run back to the truck if I need to. I turn to Allie and watch her carefully for a second while she cranes her neck to stare back at the house.
“This is going to be simple,” I say softly. “You just stay here. I’ll take some pictures and get out.”
She looks back at me. “Should I leave the engine running?”
I shake my head. “Too suspicious. Just keep the lights off and your head down. I’ll be back in a half hour, and if I’m not, head back to the room. Grab what you need and leave town.” I give her a long, poignant look that I hope she actually listens to. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she says.
I sigh and slip out from the driver’s door. I check to make sure my Glock is loaded and ready before slipping it back into the waistband of my dark jeans. Allie hands me the camera that was sitting on the floor at her feet.
I nod at her once and head off, the digital camera in my hands. It’s not an expensive thing and pretty slim but it’ll take decent enough pictures in a dark place.
I slip down the block and toward the house. It’s totally quiet and there are no lights on in either of the houses flanking my target. I move around toward the back, figuring there’s no way they come in and out the front.
Sure enough, the gate to the backyard is wide open and the back door seems intact but without tape. I walk over to it and try the knob, but it’s locked.
I sigh. Of course it’s locked.
I slip a lockpick set from my jeans and get to work. It takes me five minutes to pick the top bolt and the handle lock. When I’m done, I slip inside and shut the door quietly behind me.
I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. The smell of rotten food instantly hits my nostrils along with another acidic taste I can’t instantly place. I resist my gag reflex and take a second to get my bearings.
I’m in a small kitchen. There’s a table on my right covered with glass vials, a scale, baggies, and other random detritus and trash. To my left are the kitchen counters and sink. The stovetop is full of pots and pans but each of them has a burnt and heavily used look, like they’re cooking something in them over and over. The sink is filled with dishes and that’s where the rotten smell is coming from.
I sigh a little and slip through the room. I pause to take a picture of the stuff on the table, making sure I get the scale and the baggies.
At least I know I’m in the right place.
I head through and into the next room. I think it was the living room at one point, but there’s no furniture at all. There’s a TV on the floor in the corner, but that’s the only nod toward actual humans using this space. Otherwise it’s full of boxes, trash, and more drug paraphernalia. There are pipes, needles, baggies, and even pill bottles scattered around. It looks like this place is used by junkies as much as by fucking dealers.
I pick my way through, taking pictures. I stop by one of the cardboard boxes and pry open the top. Inside are big plastic freezer bags full of what looks like quartz crystals.
“Oh, you fucking piece of shit,” I mutter to myself.
Fish is cooking and selling fucking meth.
What a piece of shit. I don’t know why this hits me so hard. I expected heroin or cocaine or even just a bunch of fucking weed, but meth just feels even more fucked up. I clench my jaw and take a few more pictures before moving on.
I head down a back hall and toward the bedrooms. The bathroom door straight ahead is ajar and it looks filthy. I steer clear of it and peek my head into the first room.
There’s a mattress and clothes on the floor along with empty fast food wrappers and plastic cups. I stare into the room for a second before I realize that there’s a person lying on the mattress, clearly fast asleep.
I back away and head to the next room. It’s the same thing, except there are two more people in this room. In the last bedroom, there are four people all crammed together on a mattress on the ground.
I back away, my heart beating fast.
People actually fucking live here. Junkies, I bet, a bunch of strung-out fucks that probably work for drugs, but still. Actual humans exist in this shit pile.
I sneak back into the main room and snap a few more pictures. When I’m done, I step toward the kitchen.
And stop in my tracks.
A young woman is standing there. She has stringy dark hair and dark eyes that go wide when she spots me. She’s skinny as hell and wearing only a pair of panties and a white t-shirt. She looks like she’s anywhere from twenty to fifty.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asks.
I move before she can react. I grab her by the face and push her back against the wall, one hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, the other across her chest to keep her pinned there. Her eyes go wide with fear when she feels me put my weight against her.
She must weight a hundred pounds at most. She’s willowy and frail but her fear turns to anger in half a second.
“Don’t move,” I growl softly. “If you wake anyone else, I’ll kill you all.”
I stare into her eyes and she stares back.
“Do you understand?” I ask her.
She nods once.
“I’m going to move my hand. If you scream, I’m going to have to kill you and whoever gets up.” I slowly move my hand back.
She blinks at me but she doesn’t scream.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Lucy,” she says.
“Lucy. I’m Rowan.”
She stares back at me defiantly. “What the fuck do you want? You here to rob us?”
“No,” I say. “Do you live here?”
“Maybe,” she says.
I grunt. Sounds like she does.
“I don’t give a shit about you or your operation. I’m here because your employer wants me dead and I need collateral to use against him.”
She blinks at me again. “My employer?”
I sigh. “Dean Fish.”
“Fish,” she says. “You know him?”
“I know him.”
“Bad guy. Jonny won’t let me go near him. Jonny says—”
I put my hand up against her mouth again. There’s a creak in another room and I think I hear someone moving again.
It takes me a second to realize that the girl’s high. She probably woke up in the middle of the night and decided to get fucked up enough to go back to sleep.
The noise from the back room gets louder and I know it’s time to go.
“Tell Jonny to tell Fish I stopped
by,” I growl at her.
I release her mouth and run.
“Hey!” she shouts. “Tell him yourself!”
I hear someone burst into the room behind me. “Fuck! Stop!” the voice shouts.
I barrel through the back door and slam into the backyard. I stumble over a bucket someone left out and try not to think about the putrid liquid it spills all over the concrete. I turn and sprint to the back gate, running through it.
“Fuck!” I hear the guy shout again. “Mickey! Someone fucking robbed us!”
I keep running. I don’t need to correct the dumb fuck.
Up ahead the truck springs to life. Allie’s sitting in the driver’s seat and when I hop into the passenger door, she’s already hitting the gas. We speed forward as I slam my door shut.
Figures spill out from the meth house as we drive away into the night.
“What happened?” she asks me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I got what I need.”
She looks relieved. “What was that place?”
“Meth den,” I grunt. “They’re cooking it.”
“Oh, shit,” she whispers. “My dad was involved in cooking meth?”
“Probably not cooking it, but selling…” I trail off and shake my head. “I’m sorry, Allie.”
We don’t speak for the rest of the drive back to the motel. I can tell this has been hard on her and I don’t want to push anything just yet.
Plus, I need to plan. I have the location of a meth house and proof that something’s happening there. I can use it as collateral against Fish… I just have to figure out how.
That’s a problem for later. For now, we need to get some sleep. I take Allie to bed and wrap myself around her, holding her body tight against mine, feeling her breath pull in and out.
I let that comfort me into a nice, dreamless sleep.
13
Allie
We wake up early the next morning and spend a few hours uploading the pictures to Rowan’s computer and getting them printed at a local office supply store. When we’re finished, we head back to the motel and sit on the bed with a stack of pictures of meth splayed out in front us.
We don’t speak for a little bit. Rowan stares at the pictures like he thinks they’re about to sprout legs and walk off. I can’t help but watch him and wonder what the heck we’re going to do now. I mean, we just have a bunch of pictures of a run-down house and some meth.
Finally he looks up at me. “Okay. I know what the plan’s going to be.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Seriously, just like that?”
“It’s not complicated,” he admits.
“Okay, so what do we do?”
“Step one is pretty easy.” He stands up and walks over to the table where he grabs his cellphone. He picks it up and dials a number before putting it on speaker.
The phone rings a few times and just as I think it’s about to go to voicemail, a man answers.
“Rowan,” he says. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Hey, Fish.”
My eyes go wide and my heart skips a beat. This is Dean Fish himself, the guy we’re running from. What are you doing? I mouth but Rowan turns away.
“I figured you’d be out of town by now, what with the whole killing one of my guys thing.”
Rowan doesn’t smile. “You should’ve known that would happen.”
“Yeah, well. That’s why I sent someone expendable.”
A chill runs down my spine. Fish is the kind of man to think other humans are expendable.
“Look, I get you’re pissed about the jobs,” Rowan says. “I understand they didn’t go the way you wanted them to. But they’re done as far as I’m concerned and we’re square.”
Fish sighs like he’s genuinely pained. “Maybe that could’ve been the case before you murdered my guy, Rowan. But come on, do you think I can just let this slide?”
Rowan clenches his jaw. “The guy was going to hurt Allie.”
There’s a pause. “Allie, huh?” Fish says softly. “That’s Joey’s girl, right?”
“Right,” he says. “Got a fucking problem with that?”
Fish laughs gently. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I do or don’t.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t. Listen, Fish, we both want this to be done. Nobody else needs to die.”
“You’re right,” he says, sounding tired. “Nobody else needs to die at all so long as you come to me and make this right.”
“Make this right,” Rowan says flatly.
“Sure. Give me the girl and we’re square.”
“What?”
“Give her over. I hear she’s pretty. I got a little house down the ways, I can put her to work, earn off your debt. Give me the girl and we’re square.”
Rowan looks at me and I can see the fury in his eyes. I stare back at him and I think I might be sick. I have to clench the blanket and bite my lip to keep from throwing up all over the floor.
“Listen to me, Fish. I know what you’re up to. You want to end this? Meet me at the Blue Counter Diner in an hour.”
“Now why would I do that? I can just send my guys to kill you.”
“Do that and I send proof of your meth house to the cops. Meet me in an hour.”
Rowan hangs up the phone.
I stare at him, shaking slightly. He walks over, sits down, and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight.
“We’re ending this now,” he whispers. “I promise. After this, we’re finished.”
“Take me somewhere,” I whisper back, practically begging him.
“I’ll take you anywhere you want. In an hour, it’ll all be over.”
I nod and press my face against his chest, breathing him in.
I trust him. I don’t know why, but I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anyone. If Rowan can’t fix this then we were doomed from the start.
He hugs me tight and I let myself trust him.
* * *
The Blue Counter is right in the middle of town. It’s one of the more popular places to eat in Pine Grove. It’s like any other diner, just a little greasy spoon with booths, long counters, and a million options on the menu.
Everyone knows this place and everyone eats here. It’s ten to one in the afternoon when we head inside and grab a booth in the corner. The place is crowded with the lunch rush and our waitress barely stops by to drop glasses of water and take our order.
“Cheeseburger rare,” Rowan says.
I feel sick to my stomach. “Just a Coke, please,” I say.
The waitress snaps a nod and leaves.
I stare across the table at Rowan. “Are you sure about this?”
“Not at all,” he says, eyeing the place carefully. We have all our belongings in his truck and I know he has his Glock tucked into his waistband. We’re ready to run or fight, whatever it comes to.
He reaches out and takes my hand. “It’ll be okay,” he says softly. “Listen, where do you wanna go when we’re done here?”
I blink my eyes quickly. The waitress returns with my Coke. I take a sip and sigh.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Come on. Anywhere you want. In the States, in the world, whatever.”
“Anywhere?” I bite my lip. “I’ve always wanted to visit Madrid.”
He smiles at that. “Really?”
“Really. I think it would be beautiful. My mom gave me this picture book of European cities when I was a little girl and I loved the pictures of Madrid.”
“Huh,” he says softly. “That’s weird.”
“What is?”
“Spain is the first place I want to visit, too.”
I smile. “No way.”
“Seriously. I mean, I want to go to Barcelona, but…”
I laugh and squeeze his hand. “We can do both, right?”
“I think we can make that happen.” He leans closer. “Where else do you want to go?”
“Oh, god. California. New Yo
rk. Chicago. All the big places.”
“Done,” he says. “We’ll do Austin, Dallas, Miami. We’ll do it all, and when we’re done, we’ll fly to Spain. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds perfect,” I say softly.
He smiles and squeezes my hand before slowly letting it go. He leans back and his eyes move past me to someone behind me, back near the door. His expression goes hard.
I feel myself tense as he watches the person come closer. I almost can’t bring myself to look. I’m shaking again and I have to sip my Coke to stop myself from breathing too hard.
“Fish,” Rowan says.
I feel him loom to my left. “Rowan. And this must be Allie.”
I look up and a man’s smiling down at me. He’s older, in his forties maybe, with an easy smile and dark hair. He’s a relatively big guy, not as big as Rowan, but maybe heavier. He looks like an ex-football player that got soft in his old age.
“Nice to meet you,” I hear myself say.
He grins. “Why don’t you move over and let me sit down.”
I glance at Rowan and he nods. Slowly I slide over and Fish lowers himself into the booth with a sigh.
He looks at the two of us, still smiling. He seems more like a politician than the boss of a meth-cooking drug production outfit.
“So, here I am,” he says finally. “Left my goons outside, too, just to show I’m here in good faith.”
“I appreciate that, but you’re full of shit. I see one of your boys sitting at the counter. He’s been here since we came in.”
I feel a chill run down my spine when Fish laughs. “Okay, you caught me. Good eye.”
Rowan leans closer. “I told you not to fuck with me, Fish.”
“Come on. You really think I’d show up to this with no backup?”
Rowan grunts. “Fair point.”
“Now, what’s this about you having pictures of my, ah, what’d you call it? Meth house?”
Rowan nods. “Paid it a visit the other night. Rumor is you own the place.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re really going to play it that way?”
