by Gale Massey
He clenched his fists and she stepped back. A noise came from the kitchen and she said, “That’s Tommy. You better say what you want and get going.”
Loyal finished his pie and pushed his plate away. “Look. If I’d known you were at Keating’s house that night I wouldn’t have helped at all. I promise you that. I don’t want no more to do with you than you do with me. But I’m stuck with this and so are you.”
She picked up his plate and tossed it in the gray bin with the other dishes. “You can’t control the wind by telling it what direction to blow.”
“Just don’t talk to anyone about anything. Including Jamie.” He slapped a ten on the counter and said, “Anything happens, I’m your first and only call. You understand?”
One thing she knew for sure was that a good bluff starts—and ends—with a blank face.
He leaned toward her and waited.
“You’re my first and only call,” she said.
She could see he didn’t believe her but she’d said what he wanted to hear. Doubt clouded his eyes as he walked out the door, but he’d tipped his hand without even knowing it. He hadn’t mentioned the ring and that meant Keating hadn’t told him she’d taken it. And that meant she still had a chance.
CHAPTER
25
TOBY GOT A hundred miles from Blind River before he ran out of gas and had to flag down a passing truck. The window lowered as it pulled to the shoulder, and a skinny old man with a neck too stiff to turn leaned his head out.
“Out of gas,” Toby said.
The old man said, “It happens. One of them cans in the back might have something in it.” He pointed a crooked finger up the road. “There’s a station, ten miles up this road. Should be enough to get you there.”
The back of the old man’s truck was full of garbage: bags of aluminum cans, a broken weed eater, unrecognizable spare parts thick with grease, three gas cans. Toby found a small one that was half full. After he grabbed it, the truck pulled back onto the road.
“Wait!” he yelled, but the old man just waved out the back window, his back wheels spinning gravel at Toby’s feet.
The gas station was closer to twenty miles away. Toby coasted in on fumes and radio static.
The cashier was a wiry girl with sunken cheeks and a blue tattoo crawling down her arm that read Reveal Your Soul. He smiled at her to test the possibilities. She glared back, and he wondered what kind of girl would have a tattoo like that and not smile at a guy.
“Turn the pump on?”
“Sign says prepay.”
He had twenty-eight dollars in cash. “Give me twenty,” he said, and got three Snickers bars and a six-pack of Cherry Cokes with the rest. She flipped a switch for the pump and turned back to a small TV—that dyke talk show host with the sneakers and the boy’s haircut who he hated.
“What’s it mean?”
“What?”
“Your tattoo. What’s it mean?”
“It’s English. You know English?”
“Yeah.”
“Then figure it out.” She rolled her eyes and turned up the volume with the remote.
He lost interest because girls like that were never fun. He headed to the truck and started the pump, then found the bathroom on the side of the building. The toilet was brown and furry so he pissed in the corner, threw water on his face, and dried off with five yards of paper towels. All his life he’d loved pulling paper towels out of those machines and the righteous feeling that came from wasting the stuff.
As he stepped outside a guy rounded the corner from the back of the station. He was narrow at the waist with a forward lean that made him look slinky and dark eyes that he kept aimed at the ground except for a single glance when Toby let him pass on the concrete walkway. His long black hair trailed behind him smelling like fresh water. Before he could block the thought, Toby realized the boy was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen up close and a crazy longing opened up inside his belly. He started to speak but tripped off the walkway and landed on his stomach in the dirt. The boy just smiled and went inside the bathroom. He left the door cracked and Toby sat in the dirt not knowing what to do. His dick pulsed against his leg, a reaction so whack he wanted to strangle the thing. The crazy thing in his belly made him want to run hard and fast, but the boy’s smile—he wanted to see that again.
He stood up and slapped the dirt off his pants. As he was wondering what to do, a semi pulled off the highway and stopped at the farthest edge of the parking lot. A big bearded man in a camo ball cap tugged low over his brow left the truck’s engine running and hurried to the bathroom. He shut the door solidly behind him without even noticing Toby standing there, his dick going soft. That boy’s thin hips, that man’s burly torso. His mind tumbled through a dozen scenarios. He wanted to go in there but his feet wouldn’t budge. The crazy in his groin settled into a not-unpleasant sensation that he could live with and he turned away.
By the time Toby made it back to the pump, it had clicked off. Seventy-eight dollars and fifty-seven cents. The cashier was watching him out the window. He raised his hands as if to say thanks but she pushed the window open and shouted, “You got to pay for that.”
“It was supposed to shut off at twenty!”
“No, you were supposed to shut it off at twenty. The cops will explain how it all works if you want.” She came to the door with the phone in her hand.
He had hoped to get to the shore before he used the credit cards.
She slid behind the register when he followed her inside. Toby tossed her a card and said, “It should’ve cut off.”
“Not my problem you don’t know how to use a pump, Mr. Bangor. That your daddy’s AmEx?”
“That’s my card.”
“You’re too young to have an AmEx. That’s your daddy’s or it’s stolen.”
Heat pulsed in his cheeks and scalp. “Well, it’s not stolen.”
“Uh-huh. You got an AmEx and you’re driving a rusted-out pickup?”
The part about blushing he hated the most was when it brought tears to his eyes, some kind of bad wiring in his head he hadn’t yet outgrown. Outside the big plate window the pretty boy was walking toward the highway and Toby watched to see which direction he would turn. The semi started rolling out of the parking lot. Those two hadn’t been inside that bathroom for more than five minutes.
“Hey,” she said, almost kindly. “Makes no difference to me. Sign here.”
The boy got to the highway and Toby was thinking through the possibilities when a car slowed to a stop and the boy got in.
It was a relief in a lot of ways.
* * *
Fifteen miles east on I-15, Toby had eaten one of the Snickers and finished two Cherry Cokes, but he couldn’t get that boy’s smile or that girl’s stupid tattoo off his mind. What the hell did it mean? An eighteen-wheeler passed and blew the Ford slightly toward the shoulder.
He tried the radio, but this far out in the country, there was nothing but static. For the first time in his life he was on his own. He loved the rolling hills, the horizon always out of reach. Another half-dozen semis passed him going west and he watched them flanking each other in his rearview mirror. Big trucks like that could take a body clear across the country a hundred times a year. He finally found a station playing Joplin, popped another Cherry Coke, and made up his own lyrics. “Freedom’s just an open road and nothing left to do.” He slapped the steering wheel, wondering where he could get his hands on a semi.
Toby thought about the boy again and the hair on his arms stood up. He’d never known a boy could be pretty. He imagined the two of them riding down the highway, sharing a joint with the windows rolled down, their hair blowing free.
* * *
Toby was taking a piss in a field behind a small bale of hay when a cruiser pulled up and stopped behind the truck. The officer stayed in the car with his warning lights cutting at the bright sky. Toby tucked his head. Behind him was a barbed-wire fence and beyond that a bare field extending to
the top of a hill. The cover of nightfall was hours away. Another cruiser pulled in front of the truck and backed up until the truck was trapped between them. He’d feel better if they just turned off the damn lights. The second cop, a big round guy, got out.
He couldn’t believe Jamie had called the cops. He had just as much right to the truck as she did, or almost, anyway. The big round guy drew his gun and crept up to the window.
Toby buttoned his pants and stuck the stolen wallet deep into the hay where it wouldn’t be found for months, and by then, hopefully some damn cow would have chewed it up and turned it to shit.
They were checking the inside of the cab now. Maybe this was just routine. Cops find an empty truck, they check it out. Standard. No big deal. They’d probably let him go if he came out and explained he was just taking a piss. He’d apologize for the confusion; cops loved apologies. He practiced saying it in his head. Sorry, Officer; sorry for the confusion.
But if they did let him go, he’d need that AmEx. He considered circling back for it later, but he couldn’t chance finding the same hay bale. There really were cows out here and one of them really could find this bale of hay and eat the wallet. Besides, a single card was easy enough to ditch in a hurry. He got the card, slipped it into the waistband of his underpants, and stuck the wallet back into the hay.
He stepped out from behind the bale. The cops were studying the hinge on the tailgate, picking at something stuck there. One of them got a camera out of his pocket.
Toby yelled, “Hello.”
The cop with the camera jumped behind the truck, but the fat one dropped into a crouch and aimed his gun at Toby. “Get down, motherfucker! Get down on the ground.”
The barrel of that gun seemed as big as a canon. Toby raised his hand but his knees caved on their own accord.
The first cop fumbled with the safety latch on his holster. In a heartbeat, another 9mm was pointed at Toby’s head. Another cruiser pulled up and another gun was drawn.
“I’m … I’m sorry for the confusion, officer,” Toby mumbled as he hit the ground.
“Facedown, arms out straight out from your sides.” The fat one lowered his gun.
Toby fell forward, partly out of compliance and partly because of gravity, but mostly because the sky had begun to cartwheel.
CHAPTER
26
JAMIE WATCHED JACK sleep and thought it was crazy that he looked so innocent, his mouth slightly open, lips pale but full against his black three-day-old beard. She wanted to touch the scruff on his chin, especially the hollow dark spot of the dimple there. Her crotch was sore and she remembered a fraction from the night before, him on top of her, but the rest was a blank. When she’d arrived at his store after that fight with her mother, she’d been wound up. He’d been so cool about it, staying with her even though he should have gone home. Finally, he’d given her one of his pills, and she’d slept. It was the best sleep she’d had in a week.
She pulled the quilt over his shoulders and left a note saying she’d be back before five on his laptop.
Outside the sharp air snapped at her cheeks. She tugged her cap down over her ears and sloshed through the top layer of snow and the crunchy layer of ice that had frozen overnight. Her lungs clenched from the cold air, but halfway there she warmed up and loosened the top button of her jacket. The air felt good and clean on her face.
As she turned the corner at Sikes Avenue, she saw that Billy’s truck was already gone from the driveway. Good. Maybe she could take a hot shower, catch up with Angel, pretend for a few hours that things were normal.
There weren’t many cars in the neighborhood, most workers having left for the day, so the sound of ice beneath wheels made her look up and straight into the sunglasses of that damn detective. Shit, shit, shit. There was no one else in sight and there was no way to pretend she hadn’t seen him.
He stopped at the curb and turned off the engine. That meant only one thing: this would be a longer conversation than she wanted with questions she didn’t want to answer.
“Been looking for you,” he said, getting out of the car.
She tried for a nonchalant smile. “You seem to find me easy enough.” It wasn’t exactly what she meant to say. She knew he’d seen she was rattled because he took off his sunglasses and stepped closer.
One time in high school she had smelled sex on the coach’s breath when she ran into him in the parking lot behind the gym, so now, even though she’d brushed her teeth at Jack’s, she stepped away from Garcia. When she pulled at the collar of her jacket, she caught a whiff of Jack on her hand and jammed it back in her pocket.
“No wheels today?”
“Got a flat.”
“A flat, huh?”
“Yep.” It was a gamble, but she was counting on Toby joyriding outside the county last night, maybe sleeping in the truck on a back road.
“You got anything for me yet?”
“I told you, I can’t help you.” She tried to sigh like she was bored, but her heart was starting to pound. If she took her hands out of her pockets now, they’d be shaking, so she clenched them and pushed them in deeper.
“You never know. You might have the key that unlocks this whole thing. You seen your brother lately?”
It bothered her that he kept bringing up family—first Phoebe, now Toby. What if he started putting it together? Cops got paid to fill in missing pieces.
“Let me tell you something, Jamie. I’m the guy you want for a friend.”
“I don’t know anything about it, man. I told you that. How am I supposed to help you?”
“I got the addresses of four coin pushers. I know there are more. And those posters claiming to raise money for pediatric charities? That’s bullshit. Coin pushers are illegal, and no one believes that money is getting donated. Your uncle’s making money off them just like he makes money off that bogus veterans’ poker tournament. That’s fine. Maybe one day Loyal will buy a bench for the town square, put up a plaque for the boys in this town who actually served their country.”
The fucker had been writing down addresses while he’d been following her. But four was nothing in the scheme of Loyal’s operation. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“I don’t know exactly, but your choices are narrowing, and you’re going to have to figure out something soon.”
“What’s that mean? You want me to choose the law over my family?” The anger in her voice startled her.
“It isn’t a choice between the law and your family.”
“Sounds like it. Sounds just like that to me.”
“It’s a choice between right and wrong.”
“You’re the one who’s wrong. Wrong to think I’d put anything over my family.”
“That’s good to know,” he said turning toward his car. “You don’t want to work with me, fine. I’ll spend more time with your mother. But you need to understand, this is an ugly situation for a parolee.”
“What situation?” He was wrong—she didn’t want him as a friend. But then she didn’t want him as an enemy either.
The cell phone in his pocket buzzed and he reached for it.
“You know,” he said, walking back to his car. “Parole violations. She’s crossing some dangerous lines.”
“You just run around town making threats all day long? That what you’re paid to do?”
He glanced at his phone. “I’m going to ignore that for now. Think about what side you want to land on, Jamie. And don’t go far.”
“Where am I going, huh? No wheels.”
“Right. No wheels.”
Fumes bellowed from his tailpipe as he drove away. She was trembling as she climbed the porch steps to Angel’s house. The curtain in the front window rustled and a shadowed figure stepped back. Angel threw the door open and yanked Jamie inside. “Babe, what was he doing here?”
“Fucker’s been dogging me for days.”
“You’re freezing.” Angel threw a blanket around Jamie’s shoulders.
; “I just need to warm up.” It wasn’t true, though. It was fear and anger getting to her. At least it was warm inside.
There were piles of laundry on the floor and the baby was sleeping facedown on one of them. The place was the kind of lived-in mess that made her want to stay. Dirty dishes on the coffee table, the smell of baby formula coming from the kitchen, a low hum coming from a local news channel on the TV.
“Sit,” Angel said, and took Jamie to the couch. “You know he’s a cop, right? What does he want?”
“Some shit. I don’t know.”
Angel lowered her voice and looked around the room as though someone might overhear. “I can’t have the law coming around here right now. Billy brought home a half pound last night. It’s going to take days to sell all that weed.”
“He’s not looking at you. He doesn’t care about some skanky weed.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. But keep your voice down; don’t wake Tucker.” Angel lit the remnants of a joint and handed it to Jamie, started folding a pile of baby clothes. “I don’t think you should come around here for a few days, you know? Just until we unload this stuff.”
Jamie took a drag, held her breath, stared at the television. The local news came on, Nine on the Nines, and a headshot of TJ Bangor filled the right half of the screen. The reporter mouthed the words Foul play suspected.
That was the guy. It had to be. Big square head, wide-set eyes. Fuck. Am I going down for this? She coughed. “Turn that up,” she said, waving at the smoke.
“Why? Some old football player goes missing. Who cares? Probably got his ass shot up in a bar.”
There was video of three people stapling posters on telephone poles. Jamie grabbed the remote and caught the last few sentences.
“Mr. Bangor’s agent says he hasn’t heard from the former NFL star in two days. And now there’s been an arrest.”
In the background, Loyal’s old Ford was being rolled up onto a flatbed tow truck.
Shit. The connection was right there. She’d seen Loyal take the man’s wallet out of his back pocket that night and knew he would have stashed it under his bed in the box she and Toby always rummaged through for cash.