Moving Target

by R. A. McGee

  “But why can’t we—”

  “I said no. Come on.”

  Laura Bell led Pima outside by the wrist. Dusty was waiting at the back of the Lumina with the trunk open.

  “She ain’t going in there.”

  “But Seth said—”

  “I don’t give a damn what Seth said. Nobody’s gonna see her sitting in the back with me. Hell, nobody even on these roads this time of evening,” Laura Bell said.

  “Let’s go already,” Seth said from the passenger’s seat.

  “Okay, Laura Bell.” Dusty closed the old car’s trunk and opened up the back door. Pima climbed in and slid across to the passenger’s side. Laura Bell sat behind Dusty.

  The old car lurched into action, out on the road and toward its destination.

  Laura Bell struggled to breathe the entire trip, and it wasn’t just her shattered nose. She was wishing Pima was right and that they could have left. Wishing she’d saved some money that she could have run with. Wishing she was anywhere but the back seat of the Lumina.

  Forty-Nine

  Porter’s trek through the woods had been quicker than expected; however, he’d huffed and puffed the entire way up the mountainside. There’d been a game trail, something for him to follow through the thick vegetation, but the steep hills and elevation taxed his oxygen supply. He resolved fewer burgers and more trips to the gym if he got back to Tampa.

  His climb had paid off, and he was able to approach the Teddy Bear from the rear, coming down off the mountain and onto the plateau near the rusted playground. There was a walkway from the playground to the second floor of the Teddy Bear, which connected to the balcony that ran along the front of the building.

  He walked the pathway, peeking in the back windows of the rooms on the second floor. Moments later, he was thanking himself for showing up early and still having a modicum of daylight to see by.

  One of the windows he looked in revealed a disaster zone. As he’d descended the mountain behind the Teddy Bear, he’d failed to notice that a sizeable amount of the roof had fallen in.

  He reached up and hoisted himself over the roofline, seeing exposed rafters and support beams. Porter picked his way past the collapsed area to the roof that was still laid as intended. He stepped gently as he walked up the roof toward the top, sure he’d hit a rotten patch and fall through.

  That never happened, and soon Porter was flat on his stomach, rifle resting on the ridge of the roof, barrel just sticking over. He looked through the ACOG sight on top. Manufactured by a company named Trijicon, the ACOG had seen battle atop the rifles of US servicemen for years. Its four-power magnification was a boon to his situation. As the light was fading, the ACOG managed to magnify the entire area, as well as the increasingly minimal light, and gave Porter a good view of the parking lots and road below him.

  Listening to the last chirping of the last birds of fall in the last light of the day, Porter was glad he’d doubled up on his socks. It was chilly, but he imagined he was clothed enough to stay warm. He settled in, waiting for the rest of the party’s guest list to show up.

  Fifty

  “When’s everybody else supposed to get here?” Laura Bell said, seeing the empty parking lot of the Teddy Bear as Dusty pulled in, then reversed his way into a spot.

  “No clue. Big Man just said sometime after ten.”

  “He couldn’t do any better than that?” Laura Bell said.

  “I didn’t ask. What am I gonna do, argue with Big Man?”

  “Never mind. How do you want to set up?”

  Seth stepped out of the car and Laura Bell joined him. “I reckon you two girls can go right upstairs into a room with our little bit of product. Once we get the money, we’ll send them up to you, that way we divide them up a little bit. You blast whoever comes upstairs, and me and Dusty will handle the rest down here.”

  “That’s it?” Laura Bell said. “That’s your plan?”

  “Yep.” Seth reached into the trunk and pulled out three camping lanterns. The lamps gave the area underneath the second-floor walkway an eerie glow. “All you have to do is keep your eyes peeled, make sure there’s no funny business.”

  “Like chopping Richie’s head off?” Laura Bell muttered.

  “You think I ain't still sore about that? Of course I am. But right now, I gotta make sure everything runs smooth. I’m being real pragmatical.”

  “Pragmatic,” Laura Bell said.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  Laura Bell shook her head and followed her brother’s lead. He walked up the crumbling staircase and onto the upper walkway. The group moved from room to room, Seth sticking his head and lantern inside to look each one over.

  The roof was collapsed into one of the rooms, and the other two reeked of mildew and of something recently dead.

  Laura Bell was glad her nose was broken, so the smell wasn’t as bad.

  Seth poked his head into one of the motel rooms and came back out. “This’ll do.”

  Laura Bell let Pima walk in ahead of her, and held up her lantern to look around.

  The room was intact, with moth-eaten drapes and blinds. At least it was dry enough. There were two twin beds with the sheets torn off, and a small dresser opposite them. Laura Bell set her lamp down, its blue glow enough to light the entire room.

  “You two wait here until one of us comes and gets you. Remember, anybody comes in here that ain't us, you ambush ’em. Got it?”

  “I’m not an idiot. I understand,” Laura Bell said.

  She pulled the revolver from her pants and set it on the bed next to her.

  “Look,” Dusty said, pointing out the window.

  A bright set of headlights approached from the left.

  “It’s them,” Seth said. “Game time, big boy. You ready?”

  Dusty nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  The two disappeared from the room.

  Laura Bell patted Pima on the leg. “We’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to us. It’ll all be over soon.”

  Fifty-One

  Porter’s legs had grown stiff and he couldn’t feel his toes. Up on the roof, wind whirling and swirling past him, he realized his Tampa tolerance wasn’t ready for a dark night in the Appalachian woods. He wished he’d brought some hand warmers to thaw his fingers.

  Or maybe a blast furnace.

  By his own estimation, confirmed by a check of his smartphone, he had been lying on the roof of the Teddy Bear motel for nearly four hours. No one had shown up and he was beginning to wonder if Spaulding had played him. Shined him off to a location where he knew nothing was happening just to keep him out of the way. He lost himself in thought for nearly ten minutes, dreaming of the things he’d do to Spaulding when he got back to town.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He lowered the brightness and checked the text.

  It was Claudette. The new rooms at the casino are nice.

  He blew onto his fingers. Real question is, how big is the shower?

  Porter stole a glance at the empty road until he felt the vibration in his hand again.

  Big enough for you. I already checked.

  He smiled and slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans not occupied by a rifle magazine.

  The night had settled in completely. Despite there being a large moon out, he could barely make out the fluorescent haze of the large dots he had sprayed on the bundle of Quickee-Boom. He settled his eye back into the ACOG, which helped to magnify the moonlight. He could see well enough.

  His pocket vibrated.

  You going to be long?

  Porter tapped at the screen, his hands cold and stiff, having a tough time hitting the correct keys.

  Not if I can help it.

  He put his phone away and looked over the roofline again. This time, he heard a noise off to the right. Porter flattened himself as much as he could to the roof and strained his eyes to see what was coming.

  A noisy, silv
er car with dim yellow headlights came barreling off the road, around the bank of trees that bordered it.

  Porter watched as the car bumped its way through the parking lot, shocks a mess, until it pulled so close to the building that Porter could only see the trunk sticking out.

  “Asshole,” he muttered to himself.

  Then the silver car lurched to life, pulling backward and doing a one-eighty before backing into a space in front of the motel.

  “That’s a little better,” Porter said.

  Eye straining through the ACOG, he saw two men get out of the silver car. He couldn’t make out their faces, but one was small and the other, even from far away, was much, much larger.

  “Dusty and Seth,” he said quietly. Then, “Why the hell am I talking to myself?”

  He shook his head and strained his ears at the sound of muted and muffled speaking. He couldn’t make out what was being said. He looked again, but only saw glimpses of the two men as they ducked in and out of the car’s back seat.

  Unsure if they’d even brought Pima, Porter was considering moving off the roof to try for a better angle to get the information he needed, when a bright white pair of headlights appeared from the left. He snapped his eye back into the ACOG and followed a Honda Civic off the road and onto the parking lot of the Teddy Bear.

  The driver of the Civic had the good grace to park halfway across the parking lot, and its aftermarket halogen headlights lit up the area below Porter like a Christmas tree.

  Two figures walked out from underneath Porter’s field of view, into the middle of the parking lot. In the bright headlights, it wasn’t hard to tell that these two were definitely Rollins and his muscle, so Porter looked over the new arrivals.

  Porter’s elevation gave him certain advantages, one of which was that he wasn’t blinded by the Civic’s headlights, like he would have been on the ground. He could see over the wall of light to the vehicle behind it, and counted five men standing around the Civic. There were three rifles pointed at Seth and Dusty.

  Porter was sure the men couldn’t see the weapons, their wielders front-lit by the lights and protected from view. Seth had his baseball hat pulled low and Dusty had his big mitts in front of his eyes. If they could see the rifles, they were moving as if they weren’t concerned that the Los Primos cartel hitmen were aiming at them.

  Seth stopped and there was a conversation. Porter was too far away to hear it, but Seth was talking animatedly, gesticulating with his hands and moving back and forth as he did.

  A large bag came hurtling into the field of light, obviously thrown by someone in the Honda. Dusty stepped up and held the bag up while Seth rifled through it.

  “Payment,” Porter muttered. “Once they get the meth, everyone’s in the wind and I’ll have to start from square one.” That wasn’t going to happen if Porter could help it.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, then went to the recent calls and clicked the top number on the list. He looked back toward the men on the ground, and saw two of the gunmen line up next to each other.

  He realized this wasn't going to be a transaction—it was going to be an execution. The cartel was just distracting Seth and Dusty with the money. Then they’d kill them and take all the drugs and money. Porter would have no clue where to find the girl.

  Porter clenched his jaw, ready for the gunfire. Instead, he heard the distinct sound of his prepaid phone ringing. Everyone in the parking lot below him stopped moving. Porter watched as, after some back and forth, the three men with the rifles turned and walked off toward the ringing bundle Porter had left across the street.

  Porter pulled the rifle stock to his shoulder and sank his eye into his sight.

  He watched the men cross the road. The three of them huddled together as they looked down at the ringing plastic bag. One of them bent and picked it up, holding it at chest level while the rest of his men looked at the bundle with him. The entire group turned and started walking back to the Civic.

  Realizing his opportunity might disappear as quickly as it had materialized, Porter put the crosshair on the fluorescent dot bouncing with the man’s steps. He concentrated, waiting for the perfect shot.

  Fifty-Two

  Seth descended the stairs, looking hard at the vehicle approaching. The lights were too bright to make it out clearly, but he figured it was a Honda. “All these beaners drive Hondas.”

  “What?” Dusty said from behind him.

  “Nothing. Just be ready. They’re gonna try something, I know it.”

  Seth continued down the stairs until he was on the ground level. He walked out into the parking lot, standing in the wash of the halogen bulb and wondering if he’d get some sort of suntan from the beam.

  “You got our money?” he said into the brightness.

  A rough voice from the vehicle called out, “You got our product?”

  “What am I, a thief? Of course I have your product.” He stepped forward, pulling down his baseball hat to shield his eyes from the withering glare.

  “Well?”

  “This is weird, like I’m not even talking to a person. It’s like talking to the sun.”

  “What?” the voice said.

  “It’s just, you know, bright. What’s your name, Sunny?” Seth laughed.

  “You high?” the voice said.

  “No,” Seth said, and cleared his throat. “What’s your name?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does if we’re gonna do business together,” Seth said.

  “Chuy.”

  “Chewy what?” Seth said. He felt Dusty step closer to him.

  “My name, cabrón.”

  “Got it,” Seth said, turning his face to the side. “Look, Chewy, you give us the money and you’ll get your crystal. Simple transaction.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, cabrón. You know better.”

  “Yeah, well, usually I don’t have interrogation lights in my eyeballs, either. We all make sacrifices.”

  Chuy laughed. “How do I know you aren’t ripping me off?”

  “How do I know you aren’t?” Seth said. “Listen, you can be Billy Badass if you want to, I’ll just take my crystal and go home. Simple as that.”

  Chuy laughed again. “Like you have a choice. Remember your brother?”

  There was a quick conversation in Spanish between Chuy and his men. Seth couldn’t see them speaking and he damn sure had no idea what they were saying. He figured if he was going on the run to Mexico, he’d have to meet a girl down there to shack up with so she could teach him.

  “No matter, we can show first,” Chuy said as a large rolling suitcase was thrown out into the parking lot.

  Dusty stepped past Seth and picked it up. He held it while Seth opened it up and saw a sizeable sum of cash. He wasn’t sure how much it was and he wasn’t going to try to count it.

  “Okay, this is good business, amigo,” Seth said, heavy emphasis on one of the few Spanish words he knew.

  “Where’s our shit?” Chuy said.

  “It’s all upstairs,” Seth said. “You may want to send a couple guys, it’s pretty heavy. Also, you want a girl? She’s pretty young, but she’s cute. I figure you guys can find something to do with her.”

  “What? No, we don’t want a kid.”

  “Suit yourself. I was just think—”

  “Cállate,” Chuy said.

  “What the hell does th—”

  “Shut up,” Chuy said. “Do you hear that?”

  Seth strained his ears. It sounded like one of the jingles from the old-school cell phone everyone had back in the day. He looked toward the direction of the noise, rewarded for that by the headlights burning his eyes.

  “You expecting a call, cabrón?” Chuy said.

  “It’s not me, amigo,” Seth replied.

  “Go,” Chuy said.

  “What about—”

  “Not you.”

  Seth watched as two men stepped from the bright lights. Each was pointing a pistol, one
at him and one at Dusty.

  “You playing some kind of game?” Chuy said.

  Seth recognized his voice, and got his first look at the man. Chuy was tall and thin but heavily tattooed, including his face.

  The man in front of Dusty was just as inked, but smaller and thick.

  “Move,” Chuy said. “Now.”

  He pushed Seth back toward the car, out of the bright lights. As his eyes adjusted, Seth could see by the light of the moon there were three men walking across the street to the other parking lot.

  “Where are they—”

  “Shut up,” Chuy said. “You talk too much.”

  Dusty was several feet away, his hands up at the threat of the gun in his face. Seth looked at his friend, then back toward the men walking.

  “Well?” Chuy called out. “What is it?”

  For the first time, Seth noticed the rifles the men across the street were carrying.

  “A package,” a voice echoed back.

  “Mande?”

  “A package.”

  “Bring it here,” Chuy said. He turned back to Seth and pressed the barrel of his pistol into the man’s face.

  “I told you that’s not mine.”

  “Shut up, cabrón. When they get back, we’ll see what it is. Then, it’s lights out for you and your big friend over there.”

  Seth’s jaw moved up and down, chewing on nothing, as he stared at the pistol in his face.

  Fifty-Three

  Porter watched the trio of men pick up the bundle of Quickee-Boom and carry it, holding it out and away from their bodies. All that did was give him a better shot.

  He took a deep breath then slowly exhaled, crosshair rising and falling in rhythm with the spray-painted bundle the entire way.

  Then he thumbed the rifle’s safety off and gently squeezed the trigger.

  His rifle barked to life. The bright dot he’d been aiming at disappeared after the shot.

  So did everything else around it.