Moving Target

by R. A. McGee

  “What are you going to do?” Pima said quietly.

  Laura Bell was quiet, looking at the blood on her hands. She’d tried to wipe it off, but had only smeared it. There was no water in the trailer, so she had no hope of washing it off.

  Laura Bell sniffed and stared vacantly at the floor. “You know, I used to want to be a nurse. Imagine that shit, a girl like me.”

  Pima didn’t say anything.

  “When I got out of high school a couple years back, I went to this community college for a couple semesters. There was this program, you started out getting your CNA, then you kept going up from there.”

  Pima scrunched her face up.

  “Certified Nursing Assistant. They do all the dirty work at hospitals, cleaning up puke and wiping asses and stuff. I did a couple weekends of it and I didn’t care, I thought it was great.

  “Then you did more training and you became an LPN. Just a little different than CNA, that’s all. Then you transfer from the community college and go to a big school like State and finish your degree and become an RN. The big time, good money, steady work…” She trailed off.

  Laura Bell felt her eyes fill with tears and she blinked them away, but not before some fell down her cheeks.

  She felt a small arm wrap around her shoulder.

  “I wouldn’t have had to do none of this. But then Daddy went to prison, and my brothers needed me. If it weren’t for Richie, I wouldn’t have left school. Nope, I’d have stayed and got my degree.”

  Pima nodded along.

  Laura Bell exhaled and shook her head. “Now look at me. Everyone knows I killed a cop.”

  “You didn’t kill the cop. Dusty did.”

  “It doesn't matter. They got me on tape shooting at the man. It’s all the same.”

  “I… I don’t know,” Pima said.

  Laura Bell leaned back against the couch, blood-stained hands on her lap. “You know, I hate Seth. I’ve always hated him. He used to hurt me, you know, when we were kids. Said since we didn’t have the same momma that we weren’t really family, and he could do whatever he wanted to me.”

  Pima raised her eyebrows.

  “Right? And here I am helping the bastard. All because he’s barely family. Hell, I like that big idiot Dusty more than Seth.”

  There was silence in the trailer and Laura Bell could hear Seth outside, speaking loudly to someone on the phone. Big Man, setting the meeting place and time.

  She looked down at Pima. “What you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Huh?” Pima said.

  “When you get big. What you want to do?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Pima said.

  “Don’t give me that. Every kid at least thinks about it. You probably got a hundred ideas. Like, a vet or something?”

  Pima closed her eyes for a moment. “I like to take pictures.”

  “Any money in that?”

  “I’m not sure,” Pima said.

  “Well,” Laura Bell said as she stood, “I’m sure you can figure out a way to make it big. You seem like a smart girl. Don’t never let nobody make you do something you don’t want to do. You hear me?”

  Pima nodded.

  Seth came back into the trailer, leaving Dusty outside.

  “Big Man said we can meet tonight at the Teddy Bear.”

  Laura Bell thought for a minute. “It’s a trap. You know that, right?”

  “What the hell you talking about?” Seth said.

  “Why else would we meet at that shithole in the middle of nowhere? There are fifty other places we could go. We’re meeting at the Teddy Bear for a reason, Seth, think about it.”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. All I know is we’re going and those cartel boys are going to regret ever coming to town.”

  Laura Bell chewed her lip. “Maybe we should leave now? We can get there early and check the place out. Figure out the best place to set up and all that.”

  “What the hell for? We know the Teddy Bear like the back of our hands.”

  “Any idea how many the Mexicans are bringing?”

  Seth raised his good arm, a gesture for her to shut up. “Stop asking so many damn questions. It’s gonna be what it’s gonna be.”

  Laura Bell crossed her arms and shook her head, but didn’t say anything further. She watched her brother find his pipe again and blow smoke across the trailer. Then he motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.

  Laura Bell followed, afraid of what he was going to say, knowing in her heart what it would be.

  Seth eyed Pima for a moment, then turned his back so no one could see them talk. “You know what I’m about to say, right? You’re a smart girl.”

  “Not gonna happen, Seth. I already told you,” Laura Bell said.

  “I know you did and I respected that. I let you play house for this long, making pretend you had a little sister or something. But now? Now it’s time to be serious. We both know we can’t keep her around.”

  “We ain’t gonna kill her,” Laura Bell said. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “She knows who we are.”

  “So does everyone else, remember? Our names are everywhere. Pima can’t hurt us now.”

  “Yes, she can. We let her go, she tells the cops I took her, they add kidnapping charges to the mix.”

  “We get caught, we’re already going to fry for killing the trooper, Seth. Who gives a shit about the kidnapping charges?”

  “I do. And I don’t like loose ends,” Seth said as he pulled his pistol from his waistband.

  “I said no.” Laura Bell stood in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room. Seth pushed her out of the way.

  Laura Bell pushed back, standing in front of her brother. “No, Seth, I said no.”

  He pushed her again, his eye focused on the living room, his gun up near his head. Laura Bell pushed him back, what little success she had due to Seth’s bad arm.

  As he began to walk, Laura Bell started slapping him. Over and over she hit him, until Seth reached back and slammed his pistol into her face.

  Laura Bell collapsed on the dirty floor, hands held to her face. She felt and tasted the warm flow of blood into her sinuses. “Big man, hitting a girl.”

  Seth kicked her in the side. Laura Bell knew the pain was a cracked rib. She crawled backward, trying to get away from him. “You’re a rotten pussy. You big—”

  Through watery eyes she saw Seth’s face go red. “You call me a pussy? I’ll show you pussy.”

  He raised the pistol high, to bring it crashing down on top of her, and Laura Bell saw him lifted off his feet and hauled away.

  It was Dusty.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Don’t what, you big idiot?” Seth said.

  “Don’t hit her.”

  “You gonna stop me?” Seth raised the pistol toward Dusty.

  Dusty reached out and grabbed the pistol, wrenching it from Seth’s hands. “Yes.”

  Seth stood there for a moment, looking down at Laura Bell then up at Dusty. “Then my sister better remember who she’s dealing with.” He walked toward the trailer door and paused in the living room. “We have a couple hours till we meet. You two bitches better be ready to go.”

  He kicked the door and rushed out into the front lawn.

  Dusty sat the revolver on the counter, then reached down and lifted Laura Bell off the ground. He carried her over to the couch, sitting her next to Pima.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Laura Bell said weakly.

  Dusty smiled, then went out the door.

  Moments later, Laura Bell heard the car start and drive away.

  She leaned her head into Pima and sobbed until she was out of tears.

  Forty-Three

  Fresh out of the shower, Porter checked the inventory of his ever-expanding list of injuries. He’d managed to keep the arrow wounds in his arm and leg clean and covered, and now he dressed them again. Then he checked the lump on the side of his head. He swore as he pr
obed it.

  Porter kept his head shaved, a result of most of his hair deciding to take a permanent vacation. He found if he didn’t keep up on it, he looked homeless a week into the growth process. He’d never minded low hair, and in this case, it made it easy to see the wound.

  Two of the ridges of the brass knuckles had connected behind his right ear. The area was pooling blood and there was a nasty bruise forming. He poked at it. “Damn it.”

  On the counter next to him, the phone rang. He answered it and put it on speaker.

  “What do you want, G-man?”

  “‘G-man’? Who talks like that anymore?” Joe said.

  “I figured you were so old that I’d use terminology you understood. I think I’m going to the soda fountain later, and tonight I might hit the sock hop,” Porter said, wincing again as he probed his wound. At least it didn't feel like anything was broken in there.

  “You know you aren’t as funny as you think you are, don’t you?”

  “Probably depends on who you ask,” Porter said, sitting on the bed.

  “I’m sure it doesn’t. What the hell are you doing?”

  “Just sitting around. You?”

  “I wanted to check in,” Joe said. “Somebody has to keep an eye on you.”

  “If you’re going to call, you could at least make yourself useful. Got anything to give me? Any news on Seth Rollins or his pet gorilla?”

  “Nothing. Every cop in the state is looking for them, not to mention the marshals and a bunch of my guys. Still no luck.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Porter said.

  “I know, but it’s all I got. Hopefully with all these eyes, someone can find him soon.”

  “Then he can take us to Pima’s body,” Porter said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  Porter measured his next words carefully. “She might be better off, Joe.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Pretend like you don’t know the Newtons. Pretend like this was just another case. It’s been days since she was taken. We both know the people who took her, right? Not just them, but a dozen assholes like them. What do you think they’ve done to her? Unless she has a guardian angel over her shoulder, she’s probably in rough shape. I don’t hope she’s dead, Joe, but she may wish she was.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Well, that’s what we’re going to hope hasn’t happened. She’s just a little girl. We need to get to her first.”

  “I’m trying,” Porter said.

  “Well, try harder, kid. Try harder.” The phone disconnected and Joe was gone.

  Porter threw the phone on the bed and stared at himself in the mirror for a few moments. The nagging feeling was still in the back of his head, like he’d missed something along the way. He thought about it for a minute, then it was gone. He let it escape and dressed, then left his room.

  The diner lunch had long since worn off, and he decided looking desperate wasn’t the worst thing. He needed to figure out what he was missing, and he’d never be able to do that if he were starving.

  The Yukon almost drove itself to the Burger Hut. The parking lot was empty, except for Claudette’s car.

  Porter parked three spaces away.

  He found her leaned over the counter, face inches away from a menu. She didn’t look up at the clank of the cowbell. “You’re really into that menu.”

  “There are some idiots in the world, you know? I send off to get some new menus printed and these morons can't even spell ‘burger’ right. They forgot an R,” she said, handing Porter a copy of the new menu without looking up. “Now it reads like a food only kids would like.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Porter said. “I think at this point, I’d eat a ‘buger’ if you gave it to me.”

  She looked up from the menu with a smile. “That was really bad.”

  “I’m here all week,” he said.

  “I hope so,” she said, dark eyes fixed on Porter for a few moments before going back to the menu. “Listen, I have an ethical dilemma and I hope you can help me figure it out.”

  “I’ll try, but my moral compass is skewed,” Porter said. “You might not get the best advice from me.”

  Claudette looked up from the menu and leaned across the counter toward him. “I assume you are about to order something to eat, right?”

  “No doubt.”

  “There’s my problem. See, given our… new friendship, my gut reaction would be to comp your food. I mean, after last night, I feel like the least I can do is give you a burger. I figure I owe you for the beating I gave you.”

  “Glad to any time,” Porter said.

  “But if you step back and look at it, it looks like I’m desperate and bribing you. Like I’m trading food for sex, like we’re in some type of prison society.” She smiled at Porter. “I’m not sure if I can live with myself if I’ve turned you into a burger gigolo.”

  “I think that’s a job I could get used to.”

  “You sure? I’d hate for you to be unhappy with your new life as a prostitute. How will you sleep at night?”

  “Not by myself, I hope,” Porter said. He watched the red creep across her face and down her chest again. Before he could speak, the cowbell clanged. Porter didn’t bother turning around.

  “Afternoon, Sheriff,” Claudette said.

  “Miss Claudette.”

  Porter lingered on her face for a moment, before turning to face Spaulding. “Sheriff.”

  “Porter.” Spaulding leaned on the counter next to Porter, the three of them arranged in a triangle. “I see you found your way back to the Hut. Best damn food around.”

  “You’re too kind,” Claudette said, standing up from the counter and straightening the neckline of her shirt.

  “No, I am not. It is the best.” He looked at Porter. “Have you tried the fried chicken sandwich? May be the best damn thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Nope. More of a red-meat guy, myself,” Porter said, looking at Spaulding. The nagging feeling was back, jumping to the forefront of his mind. He tried to ignore it, but it was strong. He knew he was missing something.

  “Oh, come on, you gotta give it a shot.”

  “I can make you one instead of the usual,” Claudette said helpfully.

  “Tell you what, Porter, my treat. You give the chicken a shot and if you don’t like it, you’re not out anything. Call it a ‘welcome to my town’ treat.”

  “I think I’ve already had a few of those,” Porter said, eyeing Spaulding. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Let’s do it.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Claudette said. “Tell you what, Sheriff, settle up, then you guys go find a seat and I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

  “I could use a seat,” Porter said, the feeling scratching at the front of his head.

  “Hell, sitting and waiting is what I do best. At least that’s what my Martha always says.” Spaulding patted the pockets of his uniform as if he were looking for his wallet, then his hand went to his front pocket and pulled out his cash. “How much was it?”

  Claudette gave Spaulding the total.

  “That’s damn reasonable.” The sheriff pulled a twenty off a folded stack of money that was completely unremarkable.

  Except for the fact that it was held together by a rainbow-colored rubber band.

  Forty-Four

  “No change, sweetheart. You keep it for being you.”

  “Very kind of you,” she said.

  “What happened to your head, Porter?” Spaulding said.

  Porter’s attention was fixed on the rubber-banded wad, remembering where he’d seen that before. The nagging, scratching feeling in his head went away. He finally knew. “What?”

  “I said your head. It looks like hell.”

  “Let me see,” Claudette said, reaching over the counter and turning his head. “Ouch.”

  “Would you believe I hit it on the door frame getting into the car?”

/>   “No, I would not,” Sheriff Spaulding said.

  “True story,” Porter lied.

  “Need some ice for that?” Claudette said, genuine worry on her face.

  “Nah. I got a hard head,” Porter said.

  “Seems like it,” Spaulding said, his smile replaced by a blank look.

  “Fine, but if you change your mind, let me know. Got it?” she said.

  Spaulding gestured to the dining room and Porter went first, sitting at the little table he always chose.

  “Mind if I ask you a question, Porter?”

  “You just did.”

  “Then can I ask you at least two more?” Spaulding said.

  “It’s your dime,” Porter said, eyes fixed on the sheriff.

  “This car door you banged your head on? Did it happen to be parked at a shitty little bar out on I40?”

  Porter was quiet for a few moments. “I don’t think so, but I could be wrong. I hit my head pretty hard.”

  “Just wondering, because Sheriff Upton from the next county over called me just a little bit ago. He said he got a complaint about some vandalism from some of his constituents that run a bar. They said some big black guy popped all their tires and they’re pretty pissed about it.”

  “Big black guy?”

  “Well… Upton used some more colorful language, but I won’t repeat it. It offends my Northeastern sensibilities.”

  “Nice of you,” Porter said. “Good thing they aren’t talking about me.” His mind was racing to try to knit everything together with the pieces he had.

  “They aren’t? That was the bar I gave you directions to a few hours ago.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not black. If they had said a big brown guy, they might have been talking about me. They seem confused.”

  Spaulding frowned. “In any event, they aren’t looking to press charges, but I imagine they are looking for said big black guy. Things would probably go bad for him if the club found him.”

  “Then I’m in the clear,” Porter said. “That’s a load off my shoulders.”

  There was silence. Both men were looking at each other, neither speaking.