“Hi, Carly. We’re friends of your Mommy. I’m Clint, and this is Dave.”
“I’m Boone,” our driver calls back.
“Why are we in this van, Lucien? Where’s Mommy?” The van is rolling down the city street barely five miles an hour over the speed limit. Thank god it’s a small town. It takes us no time at all to get to the edge of town where another van is waiting.
“Any problems?” Steffen asks as we all pile in.
“Not so far, but it won’t take them long. We need to get going,” Clint says. “Drive.”
As we drive along, Boone and Dave pull out a cooler. We all have sandwiches that the women fixed, and we have Fruity Juice and chips for Carly too, plus a brownie. “When am I going to see Mommy?” she asks as she finishes the brownie.
“As soon as we can get to her,” I answer, and that’s not a lie. We drive for about an hour and a half and pull into a gas station on the King County line and right up beside a black, unmarked car.
A man steps out and before I can ask questions, Brian gets out right behind him. It’s Matt Littlemeier, and he reaches for my hand and shakes it. “Is this our little guest?” he asks and squats low to smile at Carly.
“Are you going to help me go to Mommy?” she asks innocently.
“I sure am. But right now, we’ve got to go see someone else for a little while. Come on,” he says and leads her toward the car.
Clint hands Brian a large manila envelope. “All the info the FBI could possibly need. Where are you taking her?”
“They won’t tell us, except to say that she’ll be safe. I’ll let you know after we’ve talked to them.” My brother leans in and hugs me tight. “Lucien, take a deep breath. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get to Rayanna, but the monsters who’ve been watching Carly will never be able to hurt her.”
I can barely hold it together. “I need to tell her goodbye.” Brian nods, so I open the back door of the car. “Carly, baby, be good for Brian here. He’s my brother and he’ll take good care of you, okay?”
“Okay. I love you, Lucien.”
“I love you too, sweetie. I’ll see you soon.” As soon as I close the door, I tap on the roof of the car and they take off.
And now we wait. But we still have no idea where Rayanna is. I climb back into the van and sit down, and Clint slaps my back. “We did it. We got her out of there.”
“But we still have no idea where Rayanna is.”
We’re silent as we drive back. The plan to get Carly out of there worked. But I have this sick feeling that we just made things worse for Rayanna. A lot worse.
If she’s even still alive.
We haven’t gotten ten miles down the road when Boone says, “Go back.”
“Go back where?” Steffen asks.
“Back to Kittitas. I think I can find them.”
“At what cost?” Clint asks.
“If I’m wrong, I’m the only one in danger. If I’m right, we may be able to find her. What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
Steffen turns the van around and we head back. I have no idea what Boone’s up to, but it’s got to be some crazy idea because nothing sane would work. We get as far as the county line and he says, “Stop here and drive around back of that old building.”
As soon as we’re parked, he takes out a knife and cuts one leg of his pants open, then starts to fray out the fabric. “Here,” he says as he pulls his shirt off and throws it to Clint. “Go out there and rub this around in the dirt a bit, then shake it real good. Anybody got a bandana?” Everybody just sits there. “Well, shit. Y’all ain’t good fer nuthin’,” he says and laughs. About that time, Clint produces the shirt, patches of dirt here and there on it. “Do we have anything oily anywhere in this van?”
“I don’t think so,” Dave answers.
“I need a hot dog,” Boone says.
Steffen looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “What?”
“A hot dog, Cothran. I need a hot dog. Take me up to that convenience store and I’ll get one.”
As soon as he gets back into the van with the hot dog, I watch as he takes it out of the bun and wipes it around here and there on his clothes. It leaves some nice greasy marks. It’s charred on one side, and he uses that to wipe a line of grease across his forehead and down one cheek. “How do I look?”
“Like a dirtbag,” Dave answers.
“Mission accomplished. Drive,” he says and points up the street. We go about another five blocks and he barks out, “Stop right here. Lucien, give me that mic. Think you guys can hear if I put it in my shirt pocket?”
“Worth a try,” Clint says.
“Okay. Wish me luck. Here I go.” He steps out of the van and heads off down the street, and I watch his boots rise and fall as he goes. He’s not walking especially fast, but he’s not slow either. And then he disappears into the grungiest, nastiest little bar I’ve ever seen. I passed it on the way out of town and I remember thinking nobody in their right mind would drink anything there.
Clint pulls out his phone, doodles around with an app, and says, “Okay. Here we go.”
An unfamiliar voice says, “I don’t know you.”
“Fuck no, you don’t know me. What the hell does that matter?” Boone asks.
“Whaddya want?”
“Don’t folks usually come into these places to drink?” Boone asks.
“I said, whaddya want?”
“Whiskey. Two fingers. Neat. And don’t give me any rot gut shit either.” I hear the sounds of something banging, and I have to believe it’s a glass on the bar. “Thanks,” I hear Boone say.
“You ain’t from around here,” the unfamiliar voice says.
“And you’re a rocket scientist,” Boone throws back. I hear the other guy growl. “Nope. I’m from over in Prosser. Somebody told me that I needed to come here if I wanted to find an employee who could do a job for me.”
“Oh yeah? And what might that job be?”
I hear Boone snort. “You applying?”
“Nope. Just wondering.”
“Thought not. You look like a lightweight,” he says with a chuckle.
“This forty-five I’ve got under the bar says I’m not,” the voice says.
“And this three fifty-seven magnum I’ve got in my waistband says it trumps your forty-five,” Boone counters.
“Where do you think you’re going to find this employee?” the guy spits.
“I was told to ask for somebody by the initials of C.B. Said he could do the job.”
“Again, what would this job be?”
“Um, let’s just say I need someone to become invisible. Permanently.” Whoa. He’s not fucking around. Why do I get the impression Boone’s done this before?
“Well, then I’d say you’re barking up the right tree.”
There’s silence for a few seconds before Boone says, “Well, are you gonna tell me where I can find this person, or do I have to win at some kind of card game to get there?”
“Let me make a few phone calls,” the voice replies.
Then it gets quiet and stays that way for about five minutes. I’m getting ready to tell them we need to get Boone out of there when the voice says, “He’ll meet you in about ten minutes out in back of the old tire place over on Fifth Street. Need an address?”
“Nah. I like to stroll,” Boone says. “I’m guessing the building is clearly marked?”
“Yeah. Can’t miss it.”
“Good. Thanks. Keep the change,” Boone says and there’s a sound of movement.
When he comes out, he doesn’t head toward the van. Instead, he turns and starts out toward the downtown area, for lack of a better term. There is no downtown in Kittitas, not that I can tell. “He’s using his phone for mapping,” I hear Steffen say.
“We’d better do the same. We need to be there and in position before he gets there. Before anybody else gets there,” Clint says.
“On it,” Steffen answers and takes off. We pass Boone and keep going. Steffen takes a
left at a stop sign and then drives two blocks before taking a right. “There it is.”
A sign on the front of the dilapidated building reads Easterly Tires. What were the chances? Had to have belonged to somebody in Bacchus’s family. We park two buildings away around the corner and Clint’s eyes sweep the lot of us. “Your firearms should have a round racked in the chamber. Do not, do not, be in a position where you have to take a shot and aren’t ready. Come on. We only have a couple of minutes to get into position.”
We’re assessing as we go, and there are plenty of places to hide. The buildings behind and on either side have junk piled around. The tire building itself has a gaping back door, and a window is broken out on the alley, so Clint takes that position. I’m behind an old mattress, Steffen is across the alley behind an old car, and Dave takes the other side of the roll-up door and crouches behind some boxes.
The sound of footsteps gets closer and closer. When they stop, a voice says softly, “Looks like I’m here alone. Somebody let me know you’re here.” I hear the sound of a rock, probably thrown by Dave, and Boone says, “Good deal.”
We wait for a bit. I’m sure Bacchus is sitting some distance away, watching, but he won’t see anything. Boone walks back and forth, back and forth. When he passes me, I can see him, arms crossed, looking about as angry as anybody I’ve ever seen. Finally, after what seems like forever, there’s the sound of a car approaching down the gravel alley, but it stops a distance away and I hear a door open and close. A voice calls out, “You the guy Tooey called me about?”
“Considering I don’t know who Tooey is, that’s up for debate,” Boone answers.
The voice steps into view and there he is―Connor Bacchus. It’s all I can do to keep from shooting the bastard right there, but if I do, I’ll never find Rayanna. “You want something from me. What is it?”
“I was told you could do a job for me.”
“And who told you that?”
“Guy I sat around with for five months.”
“And his name?”
“Fuck that shit. I’m not telling you his name. What do you take me for, some kind of snitch? You probably don’t know him anyway. I kept hearing your name thrown around all over the place. You’re a legend, man.” Oh my god. He’s playing Bacchus’s ego. I realize in that moment that Boone Lawson is fucking brilliant.
“Well, I am fairly proficient in my work.”
“Yeah. Helps if you’ve got an old man to back you, huh?” Boone says.
“You sayin’ I’m a pussy?”
“Nope. I’m sayin’ you’ve got connections, dumbass.”
“Watch your mouth, mountain man,” Bacchus hisses.
“Look, there’s money in it for you if you want the job. If you don’t, well, I’m sure I can get somebody more capable to―”
“No. No, no, no. I can do it. Whatever it is, I can do it. What is it?”
“Got an ex I need to get rid of. She’s causing me an awful lot of grief. Got any ideas on that?”
I hear Bacchus laugh, a sickening, twisted cackle that makes bile rise in my throat. “Oh, yeah. I got plenty of ideas on that. Got one of my own I’m taking care of right now.” My heart starts to pound and I’m pretty sure he can hear it. “Dumb bitch. They’re all alike.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. So what do you think you’ll do with her if I hire you for this?”
“Oh, I’ll take her out. I’ll play with her first for a little bit―that’s my prerogative if I’m doing the job, you know―and then she’ll disappear without a trace.”
“You playing with yours right now?” I hear Boone ask.
He must be grinning when he asks because I hear Bacchus cackle again. “Whoo-boy, yeah, I am! God, she hates me, so using that bitch is a joy.”
I hear Boone chuckle. “Oh yeah? How would she feel if you loaned her out?”
“That would tear her up, my friend. I’ll only charge you fifty dollars more on the job for that. Hell, you can have her for an hour for free if you’ll dry fuck her ass.”
“With pleasure. So let’s settle on a price.”
“Fifteen K. That’s what I get for a job like this.”
“Somebody told me ten,” Boone counters.
“Oh, they did, did they? Who you been talkin’ to?”
“Somebody who’d know.”
“I see.” There’s silence for a minute. “Well, this was kind of an inside job, so I charged less. But I’ll have to charge you twelve.”
More silence until Boone finally says, “Okay. Twelve. But I get the use of the bitch first.” My mouth goes dry to hear him talk like that even though I know what he’s doing.
“Well, okay then. How you gonna get the money?”
“I’ll have somebody bring it. One of my boys.”
“Oh, you got boys! You big time, huh?”
“You could say that.” And Boone doesn’t say another word. I hear Bacchus’s chuckle die. He thinks he’s playing with the big boys. He has no idea who he’s dealing with.
“Hey, haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Bacchus asks suddenly.
“Not unless you’ve had dealings with a gang in Lodi, you haven’t.”
“Ah. Nah. I must be thinking about somebody else. So you wanna come with me and have the guys bring you the money once you use my bitch?”
Dear god, Boone, don’t get in the car with him, my brain screams, but I hear Boone say, “Yeah. Let me send a text. Hang on.” I know he’s not texting one of us. He wouldn’t do that because he knows our tone would go off.
“And how do you know I’m not going to double-cross you?” Bacchus asks as they wander off toward his car.
“Because right now there are four guns pointed at you and you really don’t want to look like a colander, do you?” Bacchus doesn’t say another word, and we hear the car doors open, close, and then the car drives away.
“We’ve gotta get rolling. Can’t afford to let them get away from us,” Clint whispers as he passes me at a run. We all take off, jump in the van, and we’re wheeling down the road in seconds. “What the hell was that car?” he barks as Steffen drives.
“Burgundy Pontiac. Mid-70s,” I answer.
“There is it, going around that corner up there,” Dave says and points. We stay at a good distance as they turn here and there. “Go over two blocks,” Dave says.
“I might lose them,” Steffen replies.
“No. You won’t. Trust me on this.” Steffen does as he says and, sure enough, the car appears in front of us seconds later. “Yeah. He’s making a pattern. I caught it.”
“Good. I hope you know what you’re doing,” Clint huffs out. We keep driving, on past a couple of gas stations, a rundown little motel, a bank, and a church. The car heads out of town, but we can see that it turns off on a side road a short distance from the city limits. When we reach the end of the dirt road, Steffen stops. “What are you doing?”
“Watching the dust plume,” Steffen says. Sure enough, it stops about a quarter mile down the road. “Yep. That’s the place.” Without another word, he wheels into an abandoned gas station across the road and slams the van into park. “We’re on foot from here, I would think.”
“Absolutely,” Clint answers. “Guys, this is it.” About that time, his phone rings. “Boone.” He hits the speaker function and snaps out, “Yeah, man?”
“Ratchet, I need twelve K brought to me. Right now. Drop whatever you’re doing.”
“Where am I going?” Clint asks. I’m pretty sure Boone’s got him on speaker on the other end, so we have to be careful.
“What’s the fucking address here, man?” Boone asks, and there’s a voice in the background. “County road three twelve outside Kittitas. Turn on the road and it’s the third trailer on the right.”
“Got it. It’ll take me about forty-five minutes. Will that be okay?”
“Yeah. I’ve got business to attend to here anyway,” Boone says. That’s when I hear it.
Crying in the background. It’s Raya
nna. Please, god, don’t let her give Boone away, my brain says, but before he hangs up I hear him say, “No. Leave the fucking hood on her. I don’t want her to see my face.”
“She ain’t gonna live long enough for it to matter,” Bacchus says.
“Still, don’t want a picture in her mind of me going through the pearly gates with her. I don’t need that kind of trouble. I’m a little superstitious that way,” Boone says. “Ratchet!”
“Yea, Hulk, got it, got it. I’ll be there as fast as I can get there.”
“You’ll be here faster. Get on it.” And the phone goes dead.
“She’s alive,” Clint says and points to a stand of trees. “Looks like that tree line goes all the way back to that trailer. Here we go. Everybody stay together until we get there and assess the situation.” We all nod and take off.
Good thing I was posing as a repairman. I’ve got on work boots or I’d be fucked. Clint, Dave, and Steffen are dressed appropriately too. We make our way down the tree line, only the occasional snap of a stick sounding, and even then the leaf cover on the ground is so thick that it’s muffled. We get closer and closer until I can see the burgundy Pontiac sitting there. And I hear screaming. It’s Rayanna’s voice, and she’s screaming, “Jesus, stop! Please, please, no! Please don’t!” Please, god, let that be an act that she and Boone are putting on, I tell myself.
As soon as we’re behind the trailer, Clint pulls us together. “Front door. Back door with no steps. Big window on the end. You two, go around the front. Lucien, this is your rodeo. You kick the door in and take it. He’s going to go out this back door, and I’ll catch him here, or he’ll go out the window on the end. Dad, you get him there. Let me and Dad get into position, then the two of you go in. We’ll be listening. Here we go.” He points, and Steffen and I creep noiselessly from the tree line to circle the end of the trailer. There are some kind of curtains over the big bay window so I’m hoping no one inside can see us. We step up onto the rickety front deck and I look at Steffen, who nods back at me. Weapons drawn, we both take a deep breath and I step back, then give the door a mighty kick.
The door frame splinters and the door flies open. Just as Clint said, Bacchus dives for the back door. It opens and he sails through to the sound of Clint’s voice. “On the ground, asshole! Hands on your head! Face down! Don’t fucking make me shoot you!”
Eternally Yours: Bliss Series, Book Six Page 26
