by Box Set
I gritted my teeth, crossed my arms, and decided to wait for Cletus to talk himself tired. But then, surprisingly, his next statement caught my attention.
“Everything is temporary, Duane. This,” he gestured to our surroundings, “this is temporary. Even mountains fall. Nothing lasts forever. You got a chance at happiness, even for a week, a month, a year? You grab it and you hold on to it for as long as it lasts.”
“Exactly.” Beau nodded vehemently; now he was frowning, looking as serious as I’d ever seen him. “You have a chance to be with her, even for a short time? You take it. Because when she leaves, you’ll still have that.”
I shook my head, not liking the cast of their words. “You want me to settle? That’s fucking pathetic.”
“No. I want you to seize.” Cletus dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake. “You seize that woman. You make her yours.”
I examined Cletus as he spoke. I liked the words seize and make. Those were action words I could appreciate, words that made me re-think my earlier conclusions. I glanced between my brothers and actually allowed myself to consider the possibility of taking what I could get from Jess, for as long as I could get it.
She didn’t want to stay in Green Valley, nothing could keep her here. Fine. I could accept that. It was her life. But…
I wasn’t going to beg. No fucking way. I wasn’t even willing to ask nicely at this point. I didn’t rate on her list of priorities, and why should I? If she wanted no strings with me—and it was clear she was beyond interested in an arrangement that included the physical—what was keeping me from setting my own terms and pushing her outside of her comfort zone? Defining the timetable? Taking a bit of her pride and heart and spirit before she left?
Some unrealistic and idealistic dream from my adolescence?
She was here. I was here. We were adults. Mutual want, hot and desperate, existed between us. Why was I denying myself taking what I could?
Fuck that shit.
Cletus gave my shoulder another shake, pulling me from my internal pep talk. His next sentiment echoed my thoughts, solidified them.
“You take happiness, Duane. You conquer it.”
“That’s right. Conquer it.” Beau pointed at me and swiped his hand through the air with violent emphasis.
“And, when or if the time comes for her to leave,” Cletus shrugged, “you be the one to walk away first, with no regrets, because you captured that flag. You seized the day.”
Half of my bad mood and unnecessary wood chopping was because of Jessica.
… Actually, more like seventy-five percent.
The rest was because of Dirty Dave and Repo’s visit, and what I’d found on the thumb drive they’d given me. But I had to wait for Cletus to wander off before I could spill the story to Beau.
Beau and Cletus helped me place the newly chopped wood into the shed. We decided to grab dinner at Genie’s bar—Cletus liked her chicken wings—as they filled me in on their trip to Nashville and Cletus rambled for an hour about how he’d helped the district law enforcement office unjam their mail sorter. And then he paid a call to all the local police stations to assist with mail sorter maintenance.
He was very proud of his work with mail sorters. He’d been doing it for years, pro bono, and had a strange affection for the machines.
“They’re like the pre-Internet Internet, connecting the world and directing traffic.”
He was a nut.
It took both Beau and I several attempts to steer the conversation back on track. Turns out the car they’d set out to claim, a 1963 Mustang, was in better shape than we’d thought. As well, the junkyard owner had another Mustang about the same age, in much worse shape that we could strip for parts.
They were able to rent a vehicle carrier and load it up with a few other prospects as well. All in all, it was a productive trip.
On the drive back from dinner, Beau pointed out that one of us was going to have to negotiate a price with Jessica for her Ford F-350. We were bringing in enough vintage body work that it also made sense to buy a large carrier as well.
“Should we talk to Drew first, do you think?” I glanced over my shoulder at Beau, who was riding in the back of Cletus’s piece-of-shit Geo Prizm.
“I don’t think we can wait that long.” Beau shook his head. “It’s the middle of November now. He’s not getting back from the trek in the Appalachians until right before Christmas.”
“When does Jethro get back again?” I asked.
“After Thanksgiving I thought,” answered Beau.
“Drew won’t care about the purchases. We have the capital and he’s been in favor of all our investments so far,” Cletus chimed in. “The man is a Ph.D. biologist and a federal game warden. I’m sure Drew has things on his mind other than our purchase of a vehicle carrier. Besides, he likes being a fully silent partner and trusts me to make important decisions.”
Beau and I shared a look.
“You mean, he trusts all of us to make important decisions,” Beau sought to clarify.
Cletus laughed—actually, he guffawed—as we pulled into our driveway. I wasn’t really offended as I watched Cletus wipe tears from his eyes. “That’s funny, Beau. Real funny.”
Cletus parked, still shaking his head as he exited the small car, puffs of laughter following him as he walked to our porch. Beau unfolded from Cletus’s clown car and made to follow him into the house, likely wanting to argue the point. I stopped him with a hand on his upper arm and a staying look.
Beau gave me a questioning frown and I shook my head, indicating he should be quiet. We waited, listening to Cletus as he mumbled to himself until the sounds of his trailing hilarity were cut off by the front door closing.
I counted to three, then I turned back to Beau. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s up?”
“Not here. Let’s go to the hangar,” I whispered and lifted my chin to the Quonset hut some paces from the house.
I led the way, not waiting to see if he’d follow. I knew he’d follow. We could discern even the subtlest changes in each other’s expressions, so I had no doubt he recognized the urgency in my voice.
A little known fact about the Winstons, we can see at night. My momma told us we were part Yuchi Indian on our daddy’s side, and local legends said the tribe could see clear as day even during the blackest of nights. I had no idea if this was truth or fiction, made up to feed little boys’ imaginations. Regardless, we could all see just fine in the dark.
Thus, neither of us had a problem finding the path to the hangar and navigating the obstacles along the way.
Once inside the hut—which we called “the hangar” because it resembled a small airplane hangar—I flipped on the overhead lights, and navigated around the arbitrarily strewn tools and oil containers. At some point we were going to have to clean this place up. An orange 1965 Dodge Charger 273 sat ignored in the middle of our mess.
It was the car we’d been working on in August when we found out Momma was sick. We’d planned to give it to her for Christmas, after it was all fixed up and painted sky blue. Even Billy was helping with the engine work. But she’d died the first week of October. No one had touched it since.
I moved to a cluster of chairs at the back of the space and reached inside the small refrigerator to one side. Thankfully, it was still stocked with beer; I popped the top off a bottle and handed it to Beau, reserving the can of Guinness for me.
Drink in hand, I took a deep breath and tried to organize my thoughts.
“So, what’s going on? Why are we hiding out here?” Beau asked.
“I had visitors on Wednesday; Repo and Dirty Dave.”
Beau lifted a single eyebrow, his lips curving in to a sneer. “Those two morons? What did they want?”
I gathered a deep breath, not liking that I had no choice but to involve Beau in this. “You better sit down.”
He sat down. I didn’t. I paced while I drank my beer and related the story of
their visit, their demands, as well as my trip into Knoxville for the disposable laptop.
“Damn,” he said on an exhale, shaking his head as he absorbed the facts. His expression mirrored my own anxiety. “What was on the thumb drive? Or do I not want to know?” Beau looked like he was imagining the worst.
“You need to know. Besides, it’s nothing…violent or disturbing. It’s traps.”
“Traps?” Beau’s forehead wrinkled with confusion.
I stopped pacing, most of my restless energy spent, and faced my twin. “Yeah. Traps. The thumb drive has a video of Jethro. A camera is following him around a garage I don’t recognize, as he shows some unknown person the location of secret compartments he installed in several cars, how to access them, how to keep them concealed.”
“Oh. You mean, like those vanity compartments? Like on that old MTV show, Pimp My Ride?”
“When have you ever watched MTV?”
“When you were off running around the woods and playing baseball with the Valley kids, I was over at Hank Weller’s house watching MTV and playing Grand Theft Auto on his PlayStation.”
“Oh…”
“So, the traps?”
“Yes, so they’re secret and hard to access. It’s actually kind of genius. In order to open the compartment, you have to have the car off, in neutral, with the windows down, the driver’s seat all the way to the front, and know where the release button is located. Then and only then will the trap open. Otherwise it just looks like regular carpet.”
Beau shrugged, “So what’s the big deal? So Jethro installed secret vanity compartments? How is this supposed to compel us to become the Iron Wraiths’s chop shop?”
I grabbed a nearby chair and turned it around; I straddled it, facing my brother. “That’s not the issue. Well, it’s part of the issue. The real problem is that on the video someone tells Jethro that the traps will be used to transport drugs.”
Beau frowned, his gaze became unfocused as his thoughts turned inward, and I could see he understood the implications.
I continued delivering the bad news. “Jethro cusses a few times, yells at the guy who is off camera, tells him he didn’t sign up to install the traps for drug transportation. They argue a bit. Basically though, the voice reminds him that the only way Jethro can extract himself from future involvement with the Wraiths is to install the traps—which he did—and keep his mouth shut about how they’re being used. The date of the video is about three years ago. They time-stamped it.”
Beau closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair as he reiterated the facts. “So, they have a video of Jethro finding out the traps are being used to transport drugs, which basically makes him complicit or an accomplice to their drug running.”
“Yeah. He installed the traps. Then he taught them how they’re used, how to hide stuff. Then, they pointblank told Jethro that the compartments were going to be used to transport drugs and hide those drugs from the police.”
Beau opened one eye, peeked at me. “And no one else is on the video? Just Jethro?”
“If you don’t count the voice off camera, it’s just Jethro. And the cars.”
“Fuck.”
I nodded, sighing at the frustrating futility of our situation.
“Did you call Jethro? Ask him about the video?”
“No. I didn’t think calling him on Drew’s government satellite phone, while they’re off in the middle of the Appalachian Trail backwoods wilderness was a smart idea.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t want anyone else to know, just in case we have to go through with this.”
“I agree. No need to tell Billy in particular. He’s perpetually pissed off anyway. With Roscoe finishing his last year of college, he’s got enough on his plate. And I don’t like the idea of messing with his life for no reason.”
“And I wasn’t planning on telling Cletus either.” I watched Beau carefully for his reaction. If any of us were capable of seeing a way out of this mess, it was Cletus. He was too clever for his own good. Still, I didn’t like dragging him into something just to have him shoulder the blame when or if we were busted.
Beau, I think, was having similar thoughts. He appeared to be considering our options. Eventually though, he came to my same conclusion. “No. Best if it’s just you, me, and—when he gets back—Jethro who know about this…disaster. But I’m not ready to hand over the shop, not yet. There’s got to be something we can do, even if we can put them off long enough until Jethro gets back in two weeks.”
I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. The way I see it, it’s the video that’s the problem. If we could get our hands on all the copies then the problem goes away.”
Beau cast me a sidelong glance. “So…we what? Go to The Dragon Biker Bar and try to hack into their system? They’ve got to have backups on the cloud, or the mist, or whatever it’s called.”
“I don’t think they’re that advanced, I honestly don’t. I bet they’ve got a PC someplace with the original video. Plus, if we go after their files, get a copy of everything then destroy the machine, we might find something to use in retaliation, maybe another video we can blackmail them with, get them to back off.”
“How are we supposed to access this PC?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too…” My mouth turned sour because I didn’t like our best option.
Beau studied me for a long moment and, unsurprisingly, he plucked my plan out of my brain. “Tina.”
I closed my eyes briefly and sighed. “Yes. Tina.”
Beau continued like I hadn’t said anything. “Tina can get us in there. Or she can get in there on her own, no problem. She’s been seeing one of the younger guys, right?”
“No. She’s not an old lady. Since we broke up for good, she’s now one of their girls, one of the…” I tried to think what the biker gang called women they indiscriminately used for sex.
“Sweetbutts,” Beau supplied, giving me a scowl that demonstrated his dislike of the word, and the concept.
The Wraiths weren’t exactly known for being gentle with their women. Maybe it was because our momma regularly sported black eyes and bruised ribs at the hands of our father, but none of us Winston boys found anything remotely alluring about the biker lifestyle. The idea of fucking, and then beating random women didn’t strike me as badass. It struck me as dumbass and evil—like our father.
“Anyway, the point is, I think I can talk Tina into helping us.”
Beau studied me before asking, “Aren’t you worried about what they’d do to her? If they find out?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. “But it would be her choice. I thought we could pay her. She’s always short on cash. And she’s shrewd, crafty. She’d be careful, I know she could do it and not get caught.”
“What if she uses this as a way to get back at you? You’re right, she is shrewd. What if she takes the files for herself and then we got two people blackmailing us?”
I gathered a deep breath, let my gaze wander as I thought about this possibility—because it was a possibility. “I don’t know, Beau. I guess you’re right. She might double-cross us. But can you think of any other options?”
I settled my eyes on my brother, waited, hoped he’d have an alternate solution.
He looked resigned as he asked, “How much time do we have?”
“Dirty Dave said we have two weeks, and that was on Wednesday.”
“Shit.”
“But I think we can stall for a bit. I got the sense they’d like to do this real friendly. They’d like us to be willing. In fact, they offered to give us a cut.”
“Well, we can work with that. Maybe put them off for a week or two, tell them we need to think it over, not say yes but not say no.”
“Yeah, then delay another few weeks, tell them we need to get the shop ready—or even say we’ll do it off-site. Maybe buy us enough time to get the files, or at least until Jethro gets back and we can beat the sh
it out of him.”
Beau smirked at this, but it lacked any real humor. “You want to hold him down? Or should I?”
I returned his humorless smile with one of my own. “Let’s take turns. No reason to be greedy.”
Chapter 11
“We all know that light travels faster than sound. That's why certain people appear bright until you hear them speak.”
Albert Einstein
~Jessica~
I was in a funk.
It wasn’t a fun, funky-town funk. It was a full-on, pseudo-depression funk. Not even researching Aztec Temples and reading travel blogs about New Zealand’s geothermic sites did anything for the funk.
And it was all my fault.
Before Halloween, the majority of my fantasies centered on world heritage sites. Now I caught myself daydreaming with alarming frequency about the time we’d shared. Also the reluctant curve of his smile, the shape of his torso, the cadence of his voice, the texture of his beard, and the radiance and intensity of his sapphire eyes.
Not to mention that incorrigible circumcised penis.
Accursed penis!
Making matters worse, I was second-guessing myself. Yes, I still had the insatiable wanderlust, I still desperately needed to see and know the world, but maybe there was more than one way to kill a rooster. Maybe I could save my money and go on really long vacations.
Teachers typically had the option of taking summers off; I could live the year in Green Valley and use the summer to backpack around the world. But this idea felt like settling, like giving up, and it gave me heartburn.
My point, I argued with myself, is that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. If you really like Duane and you do—don’t try to deny it!—then you should try to find a way to make something between the two of you work…
But with these thoughts also came fear, fear that I would be tied down, unable to travel, unable to leave. Fear that, if my intense like for him eventually turned to love, I would lose my freedom. It would be akin to having those National Geographic magazines read to me instead of losing myself in their pages. My dreams would be diluted and I would be stuck.