by Zahra Girard
Once he’s gone, I pour myself another coffee and give Crash a serious look as he scoops another helping of delicious-smelling eggs onto a plate.
“What happened last night?” I say.
I expect him to talk about his throat.
Instead, he pulls in a deep sigh and he hesitates in a way that makes my stomach fall.
“Mack and Blaze both went out looking last night. And, in shifts, they covered most of this town and all the places someone might keep someone like Kendra locked up.”
“And?”
“They found nothing.”
It’s not an unexpected answer, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel worried tears well in my eyes. My best friend is out there, somewhere unknown, and in the hands of an unspeakable monster. Crash senses my feelings and he has his arms around me in a second, pulling me close to his chest.
“We will widen the search, check nearby towns, and I promise you: we will find her. But we need your help.”
I sniffle and fight back tears. I’m sick with worry and suddenly even the smell of the mouthwatering eggs that he just cooked does nothing for me.
“What can I do?”
“You know this area a lot better than us. If you were going to hide out, where would you go?”
Even though I’m flooded with fear and worry, I force my anxious mind to think. Then I sit up so suddenly that Crash takes a step back.
“There is National Forest land all around us, here.”
“Yeah, and?”
I feel both Snake’s and Crash’s eyes on me, but only barely, I’m so caught up in the excitement that I might get to help find my best friend. My voice picks up speed, fast enough that it’s almost like Josie actually put crack in my coffee.
“The National Forest Service runs a cabin program. People can own cabins on National Forest land, as long as they get a permit and pay a yearly fee to the forest service. So, it’s like you own the cabin and you’re responsible for the upkeep, you just have to pay rent to the government for it and they’ll send rangers by every once in a while to make sure things are all right. And I know for a fact there are several cabins in the area, because Teddy’s friend owns one.”
“You think Switchblade might have one of these cabins? And under his own name? Violet, that seems like a stretch,” Crash says reluctantly.
I shake my head. “I know either he or someone in the club has to have one. And it’ll be under one of their names — the government doesn’t mess around when it comes to collecting people’s money. If any of those permits or paperwork were incorrect, they would be busting down their doors.”
“Damn, Crash, I think she might be on to something,” Snake says.
“OK, so how do we get ahold of this paperwork and find out which cabin is theirs?”
I grin. “They keep the records for the local area in an office at city hall.”
“And you think they’d just let us go in and start searching through them?” Crash says.
And just like that, I crash down to earth.
“No.”
Snake clears his throat. “So we’d need to break in, right? I could go do that tonight. And if anyone tries to stop me, I’ll just—”
“Snake, I will stop you right there and say ‘no’. You are not stabbing anyone. Violet, I will not lie and say that I like this idea. It’s too risky. If we get caught, we’ll have a whole hell of a lot more to worry about than burglary charges. And your friend Kendra will be up shit creek without a paddle. There’s got to be another way.”
My smile creeps back over my face, as thoughts of burglary and criminality spur memories of some of my customers.
“Crash, I think I might know someone who can help us out.”
* * * * *
“Who is this man?” Crash says as he brings his bike to a stop in a chewed up driveway miles outside of Carbon Ridge. Snake parks his bike beside us and gives me an inquisitive look, too.
“His name is Bowen Dale Cooper. And I’m pretty sure he’s a professional criminal.”
“How do you know him?”
“He liked to drink at my bar. A lot. He’d come in and he’d tell these stories. The details would usually be vague, like he was keeping something secret, but there’d be just enough of the right stuff there that, either he’s superb at telling stories, or he’s a professional criminal.”
“So, you brought us out here to follow up on some story that a guy told you in a bar?” Crash says, eyebrow raised.
“I’m a bartender. I know when a guy is feeding me a load of bullshit over some drinks and when he’s telling the truth. And I swear, this guy was telling the truth.”
“Was? Did he stop showing up?”
I nod, the gravel crunches under my feet as we make our way up the mass of dirt, gravel, and bits of ruined asphalt that lead toward a dusty single-wide mobile home.
“About six months ago, it was near closing time and Bowen Dale was in the middle of one of his stories. Something about some airplane in the seventies, I couldn’t quite make it all out because he was drunk. Well, the next day he comes in and the first thing I do is ask him about his airplane story. As soon as I say that, he gives me this funny look, turns right around, and I never see him again. We used to be close, too.”
“Close enough to know where he lives, at least,” Snake says. “You hook up with the dirty old man?”
I laugh. “No. I know where he lives because I had to call a cab for him at least two dozen times because he was too drunk to drive. I was sad to lose him as a customer; he drank like there was no tomorrow and he always bought the top shelf stuff. The margins I made off him were ridiculous. The old man would go through a bottle of fine Russian vodka or premium Cuban rum practically every other night.”
“Old, criminal, and loaded, huh? OK, at the very least let’s meet this guy,” Crash says.
We get to the door to his mobile home and I knock.
“I’m sure he’ll talk to us and hear us out, he always struck me as lonely, but he’s suspicious of strangers, so let me do the talking first, OK? But, once you get to know him and he opens up to you, BD is actually a sweet old guy.”
Both of them just nod. Seconds later, the door opens and I see the familiar sight of my former best customer, Bowen Dale Cooper. He’s a rotund and short old man, with a thick white goatee and mussy gray hair. Even on days when he’d show up in my bar wearing nicer clothes than the overalls and flannel that he’s wearing right now — usually with the excuse that he’d just finished a date — his hair always looked like he’d been struck by lightning just minutes before.
His eyes go wide at the sight of me. And he smiles and holds his arms out for a hug.
“Violet Cassidy, as I live and breathe, it’s sure been a while.”
I give him a hug and he squeezes me tight. “Bowen Dale, it sure is good to see you. I’ve missed having you around the bar. How have you been?”
“Well, for a number of reasons I had to cut back on my drinking. Not least because my doctor wouldn’t get off my ass about it. But he’s retiring in a couple months, so once he does, you’ll probably see me back in my old stool again.”
“I can’t wait. It’ll be so nice to have you back.”
“So, what brings you and these big ugly strangers to my doorstep?”
“We need your help with a job,” Crash says.
The second those words leave his mouth, Bowen Dale’s eyes narrow. He looks first to Crash, then to Snake, and then to me. Inside those rheumy old blues, there’s malice and a sharp cunning.
“Violet, what did you tell these two gentlemen about me?”
I try to answer, but Crash steps up to my side and takes charge. “She told us enough for us to know that you’re in the same kind of work that we are. Your secret’s safe with us, old man. Hell, I got a lot of respect for someone that’s been in the game as long as you have.”
“Get off my property,” he growls and, before I can protest, there’s a gun in his hand and it’s leveled
right at Crash’s chest. “I won’t tell you twice.”
I impose myself between the two squabbling men and stare BD right in the eyes.
“BD, this is serious.”
“And so am I, Violet. I’m going to count to three and then start firing. Best get to running, you and your two boys.”
I raise my voice. Loud enough that BD flinches.
“Bowen Dale Cooper, this is about Kendra. She’s been kidnapped by that monster, Switchblade. And if you don’t help us, he will do unspeakable things to her.”
As quick as it appeared, the gun is gone.
“Come inside,” he says.
I enter, and Snake and Crash follow close behind me. But the second they cross the threshold, BD holds out a restraining hand. “Not you. Just her.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Crash, but even with my reassurances it’s still a tense moment before he and Snake turn and leave.
“Tell me what happened,” Bowen Dale says the instant we’re alone. His voice is sharp, like a sergeant delivering orders.
“He broke into her home just after she’d sent Josie off to school. He knocked me unconscious and took Kendra and we’ve searched all over Carbon Ridge, but there’s no sign of her. You know his reputation, BD, you know the kinds of things he does to women.”
“I know, Violet. I know,” he says. His voice is gentler, caring. “What do you need me to do?”
“We think he might be keeping her in one of those cabins on forest service land. We need you to break into the records office in city hall and get us any information about any cabin that might be rented out by any members of the Death’s Disciples.”
Bowen Dale nods. Once. “Seems simple enough. But there’s something I’m going to need from you.”
“What?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
I gape. “What? Are you joking?”
“Nothing in this life is free, Violet. And I certainly don’t work for free, either. My price is commensurate with the risk and the time it would cost me.”
I want to cry. To come so close to help, to finally have the attention of a man who I am sure can get the information we need to locate my missing best friend, and to be thwarted by pure greed. I’m sure Crash would lend me the money, but I refuse to even entertain the idea — tying myself even further to a criminal? I mean, who knows where he got that money? Would I be buying information to help my friend with blood money?
“BD, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You know, it’s like Oscar Wilde once said: ‘Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.’ So, do some thinking, go find the money, and look me up when you’re ready to pay me for my work.”
Heartbroken, I turn and leave without saying goodbye. I’m in such a rush to leave and I don’t want to give the ruthless old man the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
Outside, Crash and Snake are waiting for me, pacing. I can’t meet their eyes at first, because I know if Crash sees the tears I’m barely holding back, he’ll charge inside and probably kill BD. Or maybe get himself killed — seeing how quickly DB was able to pull that gun earlier has me thinking his tall tales of his exploits might not have been so tall after all.
“Well?” Crash says.
I shake my head. “He won’t do it.”
“That dick,” Snake says.
Crash and I both look at Snake expectantly, and I half hope that he’ll make his usual offer to go stab someone so I can finally and enthusiastically give him the ‘yes’ that I know he’s looking for. But he doesn’t.
“So, what now?” Crash says.
“You two get back to searching for Kendra and keeping an eye on Josie. I have a bar to open. We’ll figure something out,” I shrug, though my imagination is already at work on an idea.
If BD won’t break into city hall for me, I’m just going to take care of business myself.
Chapter Twelve
Crash
The entire day and night passes with an odd feeling sitting in my gut. It’s something I can’t shake, can’t drown with a glass of whiskey or a shot of vodka, can’t rationalize away or chase off by keeping busy — even as I check in with Max Paisley and find that work is progressing on our truck, thanks to us doing our best to keep our promise to Violet, and even as I spend a pleasant day in the company of the little Speed Demon, Josie, and an even more pleasant night as Violet’s bouncer and bartender’s assistant, something still feels wrong. Really wrong.
Can’t shake it, can’t get over it, but can’t figure out what the hell it is.
“That’s a night. Thanks for all your help today, Crash,” Violet says, kissing my cheek and putting a full glass of bourbon in my hands. It’s like she knows that I’m feeling off and wants to help put me at ease. This chick sure is something special. “I’m going to head home. See if Josie’s still up and maybe her and I can chat a bit. I haven’t had much time to check in with her and it might be time for a heart to heart, you know?”
I sip the bourbon and nod. Josie’s a tough kid, but it can’t be easy going through the day wondering what kind of danger someone you love is suffering through. “I get it. You want me there?”
She shakes her head. “No. Actually, you think you could give me a few minutes? Maybe hang out here for a bit, help yourself to another glass and then lock up the bar for me? I think it’d be better for Josie and I to talk alone.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “Give the little Speed Demon a hug for me, will you?”
“Of course. And thanks, Crash.”
She leaves and I sit for a minute, trying to quell my stray thoughts with bourbon and, somehow, still failing to get a handle on just what’s bothering me. A few more minutes pass and I pick up my phone and give Blaze a call. Violet should be about home by now and I’m sure she’ll want the place to herself while she talks with Josie; Blaze is better at listening and understanding family drama than some other guys in the club, considering the lifetime of shit he’s gone through with his mom, but it’s still got to be hard to have a heart to heart with a big guy like him looking over your shoulder.
The phone rings twice before he picks up.
“Yeah, Crash? What’s up?”
“Violet should be home in a minute. Once she’s there, I will need you to clear out for a few. Maybe spend some time hanging out in the driveway.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, she just needs a little privacy to chat with Josie. Make sure the kid’s still doing OK.”
“Got it. Yeah, I’ll head outside, go check out some stars. Love these tiny mountain towns, late at night, you can see the whole fucking galaxy up there. It reminds me of being out on patrol in the forests. It’s really kind of beautiful, man.”
“Fine, but don’t get too distracted. I don’t want any surprise visits from the Death’s Disciples.”
“Brother, you know they won’t show up if they see me out there. One look and they’ll be pissing their fucking pants.”
I laugh. “Still, pay attention, all right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He hangs up and I return to my bourbon and my stray, nagging thoughts. I’m halfway into glass number two and just about ready to lock up when my phone rings again. It’s Blaze.
“Blaze, you better be calling me with good news,” I say.
“Well, the stars look fucking magnificent tonight. I can see Venus, Mars, and Saturn. If the sky would clear up a bit, I could probably find Jupiter, too.”
“You called me to talk Astronomy? Brother, while I respect your appreciation for the fucking majesty of the firmament, this really isn’t the time.”
“I didn’t call about that, but I thought you’d want to know. I’m calling cause it’s been about fifteen minutes standing out here and violet still hasn’t shown up. It’s cold, Crash, and my beer is empty. I’m going back inside.”
“She’s not there?”
“Nope. I’m going to go in an
d watch some Walking Dead with Josie. Call me if you need anything, OK?”
“Thanks, brother,” I say.
Where is she? And what kind of trouble is she getting in to? I think to myself as I finish my bourbon. Then it dawns on me just what’s been bothering me all day: Violet. I’m already so damn close to that woman — too close — that I’m sensing when something’s off with her.
She’s planning something. Something she doesn’t want me to find out about.
And I think I know what it is.
* * * * *
Half a block from city hall, parked under the overgrown branches of a blue spruce, I find her truck. I park my bike behind hers and run my fingertips along the hood as I pass by. It’s still warm, almost hot to the touch. She hasn’t been parked here more than a few minutes. Likely it took her some time sitting in her truck to work up the courage to do what comes next: breaking in to city hall.
I start on a fast walk to catch up to her. Violet might have courage and looks, but she sure as hell seems to lack in brains at the moment — inexperienced as she is, breaking into a government building in the middle of the night isn’t anywhere close to a bright idea. There're alarms and all sorts of other security measures in place that she’s unaware of and has no idea how to disable. Pluck and moxie might get her into the building, but that’s it; because before she knows it, the sheriffs will be on her ass and hauling her to jail.
My walk turns into a jog and I reach the entrance to city hall just in time to see a pair of headlights materialize in the distance. Bright lights, sitting low to the ground, and, as those lights enter the parking lot, the rest of the vehicle comes into view — a sheriff’s patrol car.
Violet Cassidy, you are in so far over your head.
I have to act fast, otherwise we are both fucked.
Ahead of me, the door to city hall sits open, one of the glass windowpanes set into the door shattered — her likely entrance into the building. Inelegant, but effective.