by R. A. McGee
Claudette was right; they weren’t in high school any longer. He didn’t have the old, unused condom leaving a ring in his wallet that he did twenty years ago. Still, he was no fool.
He walked through the big box store, the artificial light beaming down on him, looking at a plethora of contraceptive options. In his pocket, his phone vibrated, and he answered without looking. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
He pulled the phone away from his face to check the caller’s name, then answered. “Yeah, Joe, why?”
“First thing this morning, Mike Newton sent me a bunch of pictures he says you found, but won't tell him where.”
“And now you're worried about me?” Porter waved at the pharmacist and pointed at a pack of prophylactics behind the locked glass case. “Pictures aren’t dangerous, Joe.”
Joe ignored the jab. “I called that idiot sheriff out there, what’s his name?”
“Spaulding.”
“Yeah, that’s him. I sent him the pictures; he didn’t recognize any of them.”
“I tried the same thing. Nice guy, but worthless.”
“But I’m not worthless. I figure, why not dig around myself? I get paid way too much and do way too little cop work anymore. I can dig up an ID on two morons from a photo, right? Turns out I still got it. I come up with the names of the jabronis. Then I run a search on the real property and county records, and find a place the Rollins boy was on the deed for. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”
“Joe, I—”
“No, you listen. When I look into the address a little more, I find out there’s been a multiple homicide, not three hours before I call about the place. Now, does this seem like a coincidence to you? If I found the place, I know you could, too.”
“Joe, I’m fine.”
“Was that you at the trailer?”
Porter didn’t answer, instead signing the card machine on the counter with his finger.
“Porter?”
He nodded at the pharmacist and took his bag. “What?”
“I asked if that was you at the trailer.”
“What do you want me to say?” Porter said.
“I just want you to tell me the truth.”
“Who do you work for?”
“What kind of question is that?” Joe said.
“Come on, who pays for the beer in your fridge?”
“You know,” Joe said.
“Yeah, I do. Until you don’t work for those guys anymore, you can’t expect I’ll tell you everything about what’s going on. You asked me to come out here and take a look, and that’s what I’m doing. Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answer for. Plausible deniability, remember? Your words, Joe.”
There was silence on the phone. “When did you start listening to me?”
“I pay attention sometimes,” Porter said.
“Fine.”
There was silence for a few more seconds. Porter exited the store and fired up his Yukon, bag from the pharmacist firmly in hand.
“At least let me know you’re okay,” Joe said. “From the report I got, it seemed like the Wild West at the trailer.”
“I already told you, I’m fine. You worry like an old woman.”
“I’m not that old yet, asshole. If you’re fine, what are you doing right now?”
“I’m meeting someone,” Porter said.
“Anything good? You got a snitch or informant?”
“I’m trying to get laid, Joe. Is that all right with you? Do I have to be on the job twenty-four-seven?”
“Oh.” Joe was quiet for a few moments. “I mean… after the trailer, though? You still… you know…?”
“I’ll compartmentalize,” Porter said.
“Hmm. Well, that makes one thing clear,” Joe said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m definitely never hooking you up with my daughter,” Joe said, and hung up the phone.
Porter pulled into the hotel, selecting a parking place far from his room. Despite a slight rush of anticipation, he wasn’t in enough of a hurry to be stupid. The last thing he needed was to be interrupted by someone recognizing his truck from somewhere and looking for him.
He locked the door behind him and hopped into the shower, for the second time in two hours, then dried and put clean clothes on. He sat the bag of condoms on the table, then moved them to the dresser, before putting them into his duffel bag.
Porter sat on the bed and took a deep breath, feeling like he’d been on the move for two days straight. He wanted a minute to relax.
He didn’t get it. His mind kept working on solving the puzzle with the pieces he’d fed it. Porter couldn’t help but feel like there was something he was missing. Something that was obvious and right in front of his face. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to remember what he hadn’t even forgotten yet.
Moments later, there was a small knock on the door. Porter checked the peephole and, seeing Claudette, slipped his pistol from his waistband into the dresser drawer. The last thing he needed to do was terrify the poor woman.
Claudette must have showered as well. Her hair was damp and she had a bit of makeup on. She had likewise changed, into jeans and flip-flops.
She beamed a big smile at him. “I guess you were serious.”
“Just wait,” he said.
Porter let her into his room and told himself he’d do his dead level best to figure out what he was missing—first thing in the morning.
Thirty-Six
The room felt smaller than it was. Laura Bell sat on the folding chair and struggled to breathe, feeling as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.
Their old trailer was really no better or worse than the other one they’d camped out in; it was just different. A bit more out of the way, a bit more run-down. Still, it was the best option right now.
Laura Bell shook her head, trying to clear the vision of Dusty and the trooper from her head. Mostly, she was trying to forget her part.
She’d been part of the family her whole life and it was far from the first time she’d seen someone killed. It was, however, the first time she’d helped.
Seth paced back and forth, the ember in his pipe bright red. He passed it to Dusty, who was seated on a big stump that he’d dragged in from the yard. “You smoked that pig, Dusty. Damn, it was beautiful.”
Dusty slowly nodded, drawing the smoke into his lungs.
“You that happy, huh?” Laura Bell said, blinking away the memory in her head. “You didn’t have to kill him. The whole world is gonna be looking for us now.”
“Hell, Sis, you shot the son of a bitch. What you think we was gonna do?”
Laura Bell shook her head, but didn’t answer.
“It was him or us and it’s us left. That’s all I care about,” Seth said.
“Well, you should care about more than that. I’ve checked online—they already have our faces all over the news. Everybody knows it was us, Seth. Where can we go? We’re stuck.”
“I was thinking about that,” Seth said, accepting the pipe from Dusty.
“You think you can lay off the smoke for a little while? You ain’t thinking clearly.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, woman,” Seth said, his voice echoing throughout the small room.
Laura Bell knew she’d get nowhere, so she walked over to the tattered, corduroy chair in the corner and let her brother rant.
“We need to get out of town—like all the way out. Somewhere else than here.”
Laura Bell just stared at Seth while he paced around. Dusty leaned his head back, seemingly asleep on the dirty drywall.
“Problem is, we need some damn money. We can’t get far without it, right?”
Laura Bell nodded.
“See? I know what the hell to do. I got me an idea that will kill three, maybe four birds with one stone.”
“I can’t wait,” Laura Bell said.
“See, these cartel clowns need to pay
for Richie. Don’t think I forgot. I’m high but I ain't that high.”
“How do you—”
“Don’t interrupt me,” Seth said.
Laura Bell looked at him and started to speak, but closed her mouth.
“Yeah, we need a little payback. What we need to do is set a meeting and act like we have the product. Then when they show, take the money, and off the fuckers. Payback.”
Laura Bell said nothing.
“But first we need the product, to trick the Mexicans. That’s why me and Dusty-boy over there are gonna go to the Peaks bar and take what we can from the bikers. We do that, then we meet the Mexicans, then we get out of town.”
“If you’re going to rip off the Mexicans, why even bother with the bikers’ stash? You don’t need to have product to lie to the cartel,” Laura Bell said.
“Look, baby sister, for the smart one you sure act dumb sometimes. Of course we’re going to rob the cartel. But why not get more money from the bikers while we’re at it? Think about it, we can use every bit we can get,” Seth said. “If I’m going on the run, I want to stay in nice places like the Hyatt and shit like that. None of these fleabag spots for us.”
“Seth, please. This is a bad idea. Let’s just go, right now. We can run, we’ll be okay, I’ll figure something out. Let’s leave the girl here and she can find her way home. You don’t want to screw with the bikers and you damn sure don’t want any part of the cartel. They cut our brother’s head off, remember?”
“That’s exactly why I gotta do it,” Seth said.
Laura Bell rocked back and forth in her chair. She’d given up; there was no changing Seth’s mind, and Dusty was dumb enough to go wherever her brother told him to.
“You ready, big man?” Seth said.
Dusty opened his eyes and stood up. Laura Bell swore the trailer shifted when he moved to the front door.
“Good. When we come back, we gonna be coming in hot. We won't have time to tie up loose ends,” Seth said. “Let me do this before I leave.”
With that, Seth threw the door open and was out into the front yard. Laura Bell jumped off her chair, knowing full well where he was going.
She’d been unable to convince her brother to bring Pima in when they’d arrived. He wouldn’t listen to a word she’d said. “Seth. Seth, no!”
By the time she’d gotten outside, Seth had the trunk open and had dragged Pima out by her elbow, throwing her roughly on the patchy brown grass.
The girl was still bound with the tape, and she wiggled to sit up, her eyes wide with fear.
Seth paused for a moment, looking straight up into the nighttime sky. “Damn, look at that moon.”
Laura Bell watched him stand there, swaying back and forth for several moments, until he snapped out of it. Seth grabbed Pima again and pulled her further from the Lumina. “Can’t get blood all over our ride.”
“Seth, no,” Laura Bell said, stepping between her brother and their captive.
“The trooper was this damn girl’s fault. If I’da killed her somewhere else, we wouldn’t be wanted people right now. Your fault, little sugar,” Seth said. He reached into his waistband.
“Leave her alone,” Laura Bell said, grabbing and clawing at Seth to keep his hands from the revolver. “I said leave her alone.”
Seth tried to push Laura Bell out of the way, but the woman fought back, slapping at his hands until she delivered a stinging blow to the side of her brother’s face.
Seth stopped, still as a stone, and stared at his sister.
“This is your fault. You should have never taken her from the woods. This little girl didn’t do anything,” Laura Bell said.
Seth stood there, swaying back and forth. “You’re wrong for this. I love you, Sis, but you’re wrong.” He took a step back and turned toward the car. “Dusty, let’s roll.”
The two men were in the car and fishtailing out of the front yard before Laura Bell could stop them.
She took a few breaths, then reached down and pulled the duct tape off Pima’s mouth. The girl had tears streaming down her face and the tape was so wet that it slid off easily.
Laura Bell knelt down on the ground next to the young girl, hugging her. “Shhh, it’s okay. Just hush.”
“T-They’re gonna k-kill me next time. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything,” Pima sobbed.
Laura Bell squeezed her tightly. “Nobody’s gonna kill you while I’m around.”
“B-But why do you help me?”
Laura Bell was quiet for a few minutes as she rocked Pima, then spoke up. “Because I used to be a scared little girl in a world she didn’t belong in, either. Nobody tried to make me feel safe. You deserve better. You didn’t ask to be dragged into this. And you know what?” She pulled back and looked Pima in the eye. “Neither did I. But here we are.”
Laura Bell cut the tape off the younger girl’s wrists and ankles, and walked her into the trailer and shut the door behind them. She sat on the brown chair and pulled the trembling girl in next to her. They were so small they both fit.
“You keep helping me, but one day you won’t be able to stop him. He’s gonna kill me.”
“No, he won’t. I won’t let him.”
Pima swallowed hard. “You could let me go…”
“Then he’d say I’m working against him. He probably would kill me.” Laura Bell pulled away far enough to look into Pima’s tear-soaked eyes. “You let me worry about him, okay? Just let me worry about him.”
Thirty-Seven
An hour as the crow flies from the small town where the Newtons lived was a solitary building, ten feet off the lightly used two-lane highway. On the opposite side of the highway, the mountains rose over the building, casting a wide shadow during the day. Behind the building, the view was into a valley. At night, the entire valley was lit up with the lights of the city far below.
In another place, the building would be called a roadhouse, a joint where people stopped in and left just as quickly, hoping to never return.
As it was, the place was a dive bar and headquarters, old and run-down, with nothing going for it except its regulars, which kept the place afloat. Any given night, there would be a mixture of pickup trucks, motorcycles, and weed roaches sitting in the parking lot.
The bikes were all Milwaukee-made, not the type you would see driven by actors on television shows. These were gritty bikes driven by hard men.
The bar was likewise the same. There were scant neon lights, and no advertising of shot specials or ladies’ night. There were shots every night, and ladies when the men wanted them.
Al Jackson was in his usual place behind the bar. One way of looking at it would paint Al as the owner of the bar. Another would reveal that he was the only one with sufficient credit history—and lack of criminal history—to get a loan for the building and to be put on the deed.
He had, however, been given a very large endowment to use as a down payment, courtesy of the Peaks Motorcycle Club, LLC.
Despite being a relative figurehead of an owner, Al took his job seriously. The bar was always stocked and the cigarette machine was always full.
He hobbled through the back room, looking for another case of Kentucky bourbon to put behind the bar, before the men inside got nasty about the lack of their favorite booze.
“One of them bastards could help me carry it,” Al muttered to himself, his back locked up like it was on so many nights.
Before he could cuss his fellow brothers out for their laziness, he felt something cold and hard in the divot just behind his ear.
Al raised his hands.
“Where’s the drugs, old man?”
“Son, do you know whose bar this is?” Al said, eyes fixed on the metallic door to a walk-in cooler that no longer worked. “You know who you’re stealing from?”
“Of course I do; why else would I be here? Now tell me where the fucking meth is. I want all of it.”
Al kept his hands high. His doctor said he had a small spot of cancer
in his lung, but he wasn’t ready to die yet. Not like this, not over drugs. “You got it.”
“Let’s go. Now,” the voice said.
Al limped his way down an uneven tile floor, into a stark office with four dingy walls and a large safe on the floor. He knelt down to see the dial, his back spasming when he did.
He fumbled the combination twice.
“You playing games with me? You wanna die, old man?”
“Just hold your damn horses. Hard for me to see these little numbers, let alone you got a gun at my head.”
“That’s right, don’t forget the gun. Music’s loud in there tonight. I pull this trigger, nobody will even know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Al said, hitting the combination the fourth time he tried, pulling down the handle with a loud thunk and then struggling to his feet.
He felt a strong hand pull him out of the way and he lost his footing, falling onto the floor.
“Damn, now give me a minute, shit. I gave you what you want, no need to push me around.”
Al got to his feet again, looking up at a man in a ski mask.
“Oh, hell. I’ll ask again: you boys know what you’re getting yourselves into? It ain’t hard to tell who the two of you are. Not with big-ass Dusty standing right there. I know you gotta be Seth.”
The masked Dusty looked at Seth, who turned around from the safe. “Shut him up, Dusty.”
With that, Dusty sent a backhand into Al Jackson that knocked him clear into the corner, where he rolled once and was still.
“You have to hit him that hard?” Seth said.
“Sorry,” Dusty said.
Seth went back to the safe, pulling out everything inside and stuffing it into a tan duffel bag he’d brought with him. There were several bundles of cash and two shoeboxes full of ugly yellow rocks, already prebagged for individual sale.
Satisfied he had it all, Seth pushed past Dusty and back into the hallway. “Let’s bounce.”
The men hurried toward the back door they’d snuck in through. When they turned a corner, there was a stout man in a leather vest with no shirt on underneath.
“Damn, Al, you distilling that shit yourself—”
