by Sandra Brown
But he didn’t see any familiar faces, and by the time Rusty paused and asked, “What do you think? Are you in?” Ledge realized that he was serious.
“Are you insane?”
“Listen.” Rusty inched closer to the edge of his bench. “The week before Easter is always a big one for the store. Huge. It runs specials and sales all week. Not counting credit card sales and personal checks, it takes in a shitload of cash.”
“Which an armored truck picks up.”
“On Monday. Ask your uncle Henry. I’ll bet his place is on the same route.”
Ledge didn’t have to ask. He knew.
“That leaves everything the store has raked in that week in a vault over Easter Sunday. Praise Jesus!” Rusty added, laughing under his breath. “And, before you ask, they don’t mark the bills or put them in bags that explode with blue paint. They band them by denomination, that’s all.”
“Where’d you get this information?”
“My inside man. His name’s Brian Foster.”
Rusty went on to describe the guy. Ledge scoffed. “The store’s second-banana bean counter? He sounds like a loser.”
“He is. He’s doing this to spite his hard-ass boss, who’s always on his case. Also to prove that he has a pair.”
Ledge again snorted skeptically, but Rusty wasn’t discouraged. “We can’t do squat without Foster. He’ll get us into the store and open the vault.”
“There is no we, Rusty. Forget it.”
“Don’t say no until you hear me out.”
“I’ve already said no.”
“Okay.” He patted the air. “You’re worried about Foster’s reliability. Understood. True, he’s scared of his own shadow. But see? That makes him easy to intimidate. To control. Do our bidding.”
“What it makes him is a screwup waiting to happen.”
“He can open the vault.”
“While you pose for the security cameras.”
“All the store cameras are dummies.” He flashed a grin. “Foster told me that old man Welch is too cheap to spring for the real thing.”
“I wouldn’t take this Foster’s word on anything.”
Rusty mimed firing a pistol at him. “Me neither. So I got verification from another source.”
“From who?”
“Someone else who’s familiar with the store. You know the Maxwells? Lisa was Miss Everything. She graduated a couple of years ago. There’s another girl. A lot younger. The mother got killed in a car wreck.”
“I know the family you’re talking about.”
“Well, the daddy, poor ol’ Joe, lost his wife like that,” he said, snapping his fingers, “and got saddled with two daughters to raise. Which would bring any man to drink. It did Joe, and now he’s a full-fledged drunk. It’s a well-kept secret that everybody knows.”
“Not me.” Ledge had been racking balls in his uncle’s place since he was tall enough to see over the pool table. To his knowledge Joe Maxwell had never darkened the door.
As though reading his mind, Rusty said, “He’s a closet drinker. Doesn’t do it publicly so his daughters won’t be disgraced. He let his insurance business slide until he had to shut it down. Since then, he’s been moving from job to job. Guess where he last worked.”
Ledge didn’t have to guess. He saw it coming. Welch’s store.
“Stocking shelves. Mopping the restrooms. Shit detail,” Rusty said. “A few months ago, he got fired for being rude to a customer and using foul language. Now, you would think Joe would be out for revenge, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know the man, and I can’t read minds.”
“Well, see, I can,” Rusty boasted, flashing his canny smile. “Joe has turned into a short-tempered drunk, but he’s not entirely without scruples. I was afraid that stealing from his former employer might be pushing the envelope.”
Rusty explained how he had gotten around Joe Maxwell’s conscience. Ledge was dismayed and disgusted by his arm-twisting tactics.
“Came down to money, as everything does,” Rusty said. “I waved around the bills he owes to everybody, from the electric company to a shabby liquor store across the state line. Those overdue invoices worked as good as a handful of magic wands. When someone’s desperate enough, they’ll agree to anything. Anyhow, as of yesterday, I got verification of everything Foster had told me about the store and its chickenshit security. We’re good to go.”
“With those two as your accomplices?” As a motive, Ledge thought desperation sucked as bad as proving you had balls. “You’re crazy.”
“More like crafty.” Rusty tapped his sidewall.
“You’ve explained why the other two are doing it. Why are you? Did your daddy cut off your allowance?”
Rusty’s father was Sheriff Mervin Dyle, the most corrupt law officer that money could buy. Taking graft was his sideline, and it was a lucrative one. He collected dirt on everybody, hoarded it, and used it on an as-needed basis to bend or break local politicians, judges, law officers, school board members, clergymen, business owners, and anyone else who, in his opinion, needed comeuppance. Being a believer in equal opportunity for all, Mervin also preyed on those who had no influence whatsoever.
His corruption was well known, but nobody did anything about it for fear of reprisal, which was Machiavellian and often medieval. Rusty, Mervin’s only child, was upholding the family tradition. Bullying came as easily to him as breathing.
Rather than taking offense at Ledge’s remark about his allowance being cut off, he grinned. “Why am I doing it? For the hell of it. Just to see if I can get away with it.”
It was such a chilling, amoral comeback that Ledge had no problem believing it. “Well, count me out. I want no part of your stupid scheme. And no part of you.”
“You would turn down a quarter share of half a million dollars?”
“I am turning down a quarter share.”
“I realize it’s small potatoes. Not like it’s five million, or something. But it’s good pocket change, right? A portable amount. Easily spent on Mickey Mouse stuff a little at a time so nobody notices you’re suddenly flush with cash.”
Into it, he leaned forward. “It’s a good-for-starters amount. A practice run. We’ll see how it goes. Then…?” He bobbed his eyebrows. “We could aim higher.”
“I wouldn’t go in league with you for any amount.”
“Well, that’s just thick-headed, Ledge. Think of all the dope you could buy.”
Ledge gave him a fulminating look.
“Hell, with that kind of money, you could bankroll your own meth lab.”
“Go fuck yourself.” To hell with the rain; he reached for his keys and scooted to the end of the booth.
Rusty said, “After I’ve shared the plan, you don’t really think I’ll let you walk away, do you?”
“Watch me.” He stood.
“You go along, or I burn down your uncle’s crappy redneck bar.”
Ledge froze in place and looked back. Rusty remained smiling and smug. “Well, not me personally, of course. But I know a couple of wetbacks who’d do it for fifty bucks and a bottle of mescal.”
He leaned back against the vinyl of the booth and stared pensively into the middle distance. “That would be such a damn shame, wouldn’t it? Your uncle Henry has been pouring his heart and soul into that place for years, trying to make a better life for you, his poor orphaned nephew. It’s a shithole, but losing it would probably kill him.”
He then refocused on Ledge, who actually felt the skin on his face growing taut as he glared at Rusty with loathing. “He’s not getting any younger, ya know.” After a beat, Rusty said, “Now sit the fuck down.”
Ledge slid back into the booth and leaned across the table. “Why me?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Crystal? Is this about her?”
Rusty snorted. “That whore? Take her. God knows everybody else has.”
Not for an instant did Ledge buy into the dismissive attitude Rusty tried
to sell. Crystal had rejected him, and, pure and simple, Rusty couldn’t stand it. But Ledge let it drop this time. “You’ve got your two insiders. I don’t have anything to contribute. You don’t need me.”
Rusty placed his hand over his heart. “But I do, Ledge, I do need you. In case something goes wrong and we get caught, you’ll serve a very useful purpose.” He widened his grin. “I may need a scapegoat, and you’re an established criminal.”
Chapter 4
As Rusty settled more comfortably on the barstool, Ledge greeted him with a mere hitch of his chin.
Don took a swipe at the bar in front of Rusty with his towel and forced a smile. “Name your poison.”
“Nothing, thanks. I’m driving.” He said it unctuously.
“Working late tonight?” Don asked.
“Working late every night. Daytime, too.” He added a wink and gave Ledge a sly grin. “Anyhow, I saw Ledge’s truck outside. Been a while. Thought I’d drop in, say hi, see what he’s up to these days.”
Taking the hint, Don said, “Let me know if you change your mind about that drink.” After shooting an apologetic glance toward Ledge, he moved to the far end of the bar and made himself look busy.
“How’re you getting on, Ledge?”
“Fine.”
“Your uncle any better?”
“No worse.”
“Well, I guess that’s good.”
“Not really.”
Rusty’s red hair had been dulled by gray at his temples, but his insufferable, superior attitude hadn’t mellowed a whit. Ledge couldn’t bear to be in his company. He stood up and reached toward his back pocket for his wallet. “I gotta shove off.”
“What’s your hurry?”
“It’s late.”
“Not that late. Sit a spell.” Rusty tipped his head down toward Ledge’s barstool. “I want to talk to you about something.”
He didn’t need to ask Rusty what was on his mind, because he already knew. This confrontation had been inevitable since the day Arden Maxwell had turned up in Penton. He was surprised Rusty hadn’t ambushed him sooner. Now that he had, at least he no longer had to dread it. He sat back down, not in concession, but in order to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible.
But Rusty seemed in no hurry to commence. He swiveled around toward the group of young men who’d wrapped up their tournament and were counting out currency to the winner.
Rusty called out, “You boys having fun over there?”
They ceased what they were doing, but none answered.
Rusty homed in on one of them. “Well, lookee who we’ve got here. Hawkins. I thought you were in Huntsville. Dogfighting, wasn’t it?”
“Got screwed over by the system.”
“The system, huh?”
“Lousy public defender made me take a plea bargain. I got two years.”
“You’re already out?”
“Paroled for good behavior.”
“Good behavior, my ass,” Rusty said. “Won’t last. You’ll go back.”
Before the young man could retort, one of his buddies grabbed him by the arm and towed him out, the others hot on their heels.
As the door shut behind them, Rusty came back around on his stool, chuckling. “He ran a chickenshit operation out of an old barn belonging to his twin brothers. Whole tribe of white trash. Probably inbred. Name of Hawkins. Know them?”
“No.”
“Well, anyway, Dwayne there was born to be wild. Reminds me of somebody else I know.”
Ledge said nothing and kept his gaze forward, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rusty’s deliberately provoking grin as he called to Don, “Maybe I’ll have a Dr Pepper after all. And be generous with the ice.”
With smug amusement, he continued to stare at Ledge’s rigid profile while his drink was being poured. Don delivered it but didn’t tarry. Rusty discarded the straw and drank directly from the glass.
He emitted a honking burp without covering it. “Well? What about it?”
Ledge didn’t say anything.
“Don’t play dumb. You know what, or rather who, I’m talking about.” He leaned toward Ledge and lowered his voice. “They’re baaaaack. At least one of them is. Unfortunately, it’s not the old man.”
Rusty leaned in a little closer. Ledge recognized the transparent attempt to intimidate him and didn’t move a muscle. “What do you think about her coming back here to roost?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“No?” Rusty angled back and took another drink of his Dr Pepper, eyeing Ledge over the rim of the glass. When he lowered it, he said, “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe whatever the hell you like. It’s a free country.”
Rusty barked a cynical laugh. “Nothing comes free. Who would know that better than a war hero?”
Ledge glanced down the bar toward Don, who’d been polishing the same highball glass for the past several minutes, shooting furtive, worried glances in their direction.
“Must say,” Rusty continued as his finger drew a trail in the condensation on the outside of his glass, “that was quite a scene she created in the supermarket.”
Ledge looked at Rusty with repugnance. “She created? She didn’t choose the timing or the place to lose her baby.”
“You know what I mean. It was a scene.” He proceeded to describe it to Ledge. When he finished, he nudged Ledge’s arm with his elbow. “I have the nitty gritty, all the details, on good authority. But even if someone hadn’t reported it straight to me, word of it spread faster than the clap.”
“You would know,” Ledge muttered.
Rusty grinned, took another drink, and with see-through casualness checked a loose cuticle on his thumb. “Her big sister showed up at the hospital later that evening. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Oh, yeah. Ordering everybody around. Pushy bitch. Just like she always was.”
“I didn’t really know her.”
“No, guess not. Y’all didn’t run in the same crowd.” Rusty made a point of taking a look around the bar, ending on the strand of colored Christmas lights draped along the back of the bar. “Around town, Lisa Maxwell was always a golden girl.” He paused. “You, by contrast, were raised in the back room of this pool hall.”
This was the type of goading at which Rusty Dyle excelled. Ledge had expected it, but he was damned if he’d let Rusty get a rise out of him.
Instead, he looked at his wristwatch. “I’m off.”
“Hold on.” Rusty clamped his hand around Ledge’s forearm. Ledge looked down at the restraining hand and kept looking at it until it was removed. But his silent warning didn’t dissuade Rusty, who hissed, “We need to talk about this.”
“No. We don’t.”
“How come you think she came back here? Why now?”
“I have no idea.”
“Just seems peculiar,” Rusty said. “In this great big free country of ours, wouldn’t you say it’s odd she picked here to nest?”
“She wanted her kid to grow up in the same house she did. What’s peculiar about that?”
“Nothing. Except that she’s no longer having a kid. So why’s she sticking around?”
“I guess she likes it here.”
“Guess she does. She’s planning on fixing up the place.”
Despite his determination not to react, Ledge’s heart rate hitched. “How do you know?”
“She’s been calling around. Getting estimates.” Rusty winked. “I’ve been keeping tabs on her goings-on.”
The thought of Rusty keeping tabs on Arden Maxwell chilled Ledge to the bone. This afternoon, she’d stood her ground with him when he was being his most contrary self. She was no pushover. But he knew Rusty’s character. Or rather, his lack of it. He knew the treachery Rusty was capable of.
“Twenty years ago, she was still in grade school,” Ledge said. “If you’re thinking she knew anything about where her daddy got off to with that money, you’re w
rong.”
“Am I?” Rusty leaned in again. “Think on this. The woman hasn’t held a job since she left Houston—six, seven months ago—and moved here. She’s got no visible means of support, but she’s going to renovate that big ol’ house, which will take some serious coin. Makes me wonder where she’s getting the financing.”
“Her sister.”
“Could be. She married up. Way up. Big shot in Dallas. Then he croaked a couple years ago, leaving her not only his fortune but the reins to his company. Which is why I can’t see her funding a reconnection to our little burg over here in the sticks.”
In order to try to dismantle Rusty’s interest in Arden and her unexpected return to town, Ledge groped his mind for other explanations. “Maybe Arden did so well at her former job, she doesn’t need to work. Not for a while, at least.”
Rusty shook his head. “Not likely. She sold fancy clothes at the Neiman Marcus in the Galleria. Top-dollar goods, but she worked on commission only. She didn’t cash out as the retiring CEO.”
“Generous alimony.”
“She’s never been married.”
“You know that as fact?”
“Hell, yes. I checked.”
Arden had deliberately dodged his probing about the identity and whereabouts of her baby’s father. Admittedly, he was curious, but, for Rusty’s benefit, he feigned indifference. “Then she’s got a well-heeled boyfriend.”
“There hasn’t been a man around since she got here.”
“You’ve been watching?” Ledge asked, maintaining his casual tone.
Rusty didn’t admit to that but thoughtfully scratched his cheek. “Maybe he dumped her when he found out about the kid. He paid her off, wished her luck, then sent her on her way to have the baby alone.”
“Or maybe he was a loser, and she dumped him.”
“Maybe. But that brings us back to her unknown source of income.” Rusty leered, whispering, “Take a wild guess.”
“I’ll leave the wild guessing to you.”
“Okay, how’s this? Daddy’s had it stockpiled all these years, and has just now divvied it up.”
“If that were so,” Ledge said, “she could do better than to move back here.”
“Money doesn’t stretch as far as it used to.” Rusty shook an ice cube from the glass and into his mouth. Crunching it, he said, “I intend to keep a close eye on Miss Arden Maxwell and her spending habits.” He playfully socked Ledge’s arm. “Same as I’ve kept a close watch on you, buddy.”