Done Dirt Cheap

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  The bodyguard put down his magazine and stood.

  Virginia slipped into the hall before he caught her.

  Hazard looked startled when she appeared in the door of his office, but he smiled as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “Oh, your hair is lovely.” He leaned back in the leather office chair and twirled his finger. “Turn. Let me see.”

  She faced the guard in obedience.

  He smirked, resting one hand on his waistband.

  While she spun, thinking of her father and the Wardens, it was as if she’d finally hit a secret button and suddenly the whole world unfolded before her. Tourmaline’s talk of court runs. The rumors she’d heard, while working for Hazard, of people disappearing or being warned of their own imminent disappearance. The white noise of partying and women and motorcycles, obscuring the high, clear note of truth. They’d done that for her. They’d done it for others.

  Hazard had told her, that night when he showed off the heroin, but she hadn’t understood what it meant. Hazard needed the Wardens distracted while he built something stronger than they were, something that involved the cops who hunted them, or else he risked his own disappearance. Hazard had let her go when Jason arrived because Jason’s very presence was threatening to kill him. Tourmaline didn’t need to kill Wayne; the Wardens were already planning to. Or they would be, if they knew Wayne had come after Tourmaline.

  Virginia came back to face Hazard.

  Jealousy and hope and longing all stabbed deep into her chest, ripping open the anger. She felt as if someone were cutting open a vein, the anger intense and hot and running all over her hands as she tried to stop it. She swallowed, forcing it down into her chest before she killed them all right there and ruined everything.

  “It really suits you. Quite saucy,” Hazard said, putting a box from his desk onto the floor. “And so are you, apparently, for showing back up here.”

  She glanced at the stacks of file boxes in the corner behind his desk—at that tiny serial number at the bottom of each one—without moving or answering, hiding the sudden double tap of her heartbeat. The gun was in one of those boxes. With the tiny beige numbers. 7602XF-1842066. It was a good plan—find Hazard’s gun, plant it on Wayne, call the cops. A felon on parole couldn’t have a gun, much less a stolen one. And when the gun was discovered, with it would be Hazard’s dope, all roads trailing back to him.

  Find the gun.

  “I had to let things cool off a little. You played your part perfect.” She smoothed her shirt and plopped into one of the chairs reserved for clients.

  Hazard’s mouth tightened. Eyes narrowed.

  “I did worry for a second that you’d kill him and ruin it all.” She plucked a peppermint out of the bowl and unwrapped it. “And I’m still pissed about my hair.”

  “You did that on purpose? You were playing me?”

  “Him. I was playing him. Isn’t that what you told me to do?” She popped the mint into her mouth and sucked on it, thankful to hide the twitch of her mouth. “Damn. Do you need notes? How else did you want me to get them to trust me?”

  Hazard’s jaw flickered. “You didn’t think to inform me ahead of time?”

  “Ahh. But that would have been so much less realistic. So much easier to sniff out.”

  Hazard fingered the edge of a folder. “You underestimate me.” His gaze held hers tight. That same cold, dead space hidden behind the veneer of pleasantness.

  Skeleton fingers climbed up her spine and dug into her hair, holding her by the neck. But she ignored the bones and refused to break eye contact. “No, darlin’. You underestimate me.”

  The seconds ticked past. Down the hall a phone rang and someone answered it.

  Hazard didn’t move. “So, Virginia. Why don’t you bring me up to speed?”

  “Gladly.” She moved the mint to her other cheek and leaned on her elbow. “Jason already knew I worked for you. The second I showed up, he knew what was happening. Who I was. But now that he saved me from you, he thinks he’s that man, that dark knight I will love forever. That my loyalty is with him. And because of that”—she held up her fist—“he’s in the palm of my hand. What do you really want?”

  “I told you what I wanted.”

  “And didn’t I deliver a great distraction?”

  He frowned. “I notice you’ve been spending a lot of time with that Harris girl still.”

  Was he buying this? Virginia felt as if she could almost sell it to herself. He had to be buying it. “I’m part of them now. It just took something big to get that far. These people like to save things.” She smiled. “I told you I had it under control. Now, cut the shit with this wild-goose chase you sent me on and tell me what you actually need done.”

  “Where’s the clubhouse?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Back in the woods on North Mountain. I mean, if that’s all you want.” She’d had that before he punished her.

  He didn’t respond right away. Eyed her up and down. Then he waved his hand and the door clicked shut.

  Virginia tried not to cringe as she met his eyes.

  “When is church?” he asked.

  “Sunday night,” she said, head buzzing. “They’ll have two guards out.”

  He nodded. “I need you to take some . . . things over to the clubhouse the night before.”

  This wasn’t what she expected. It was too deep. She needed out of this. Now.

  “I want you to divide up the heroin. Put it in a few different places in the clubhouse, just in case. Remember each one, because you’ll need to tell them.”

  Them? “No problem, boss.” Virginia met Hazard’s eyes, her mind racing but her voice calm. “I need to use the bathroom.” She pushed out of the chair.

  “Before I forget.”

  She bit her lips together, trying to stay patient.

  “When you see that ever-so-helpful friend of yours . . .” He settled back in the chair with his notepad and files. “You know the one. You might think about reminding him even Satan has his revenge in hell.”

  Jason.

  He clicked his pen. “Use the bathroom to the right. Don’t scare any clients.”

  She strutted off, sneakers squeaking on the slick linoleum. Her heart pounded in her head, Jason behind her eyes. What was happening? It felt almost unreal to be here. To still be alive.

  She scanned the files in the back room as she passed, only getting one side of the shelves. The smell of perfume mixed with the dry paper. Every breath felt one breath closer to her life closing in on her. She passed another filing room, but also a secretary who looked as if she’d been hired on the basis of her résumé and not the interview, so she only glanced inside before she entered the bathroom and locked the door.

  Now what, Virginia Campbell? She stared at herself in the mirror, still surprised to see short hair.

  Her chest heaved and her fingers trembled. She thought she was dangerously close to crying, but when she narrowed her eyes and loosened her mouth, what wanted to come out was more like a murderous scream of rage. Or she wanted to vomit, to empty her body of all its contents—her organs, her mind, everything but pain. She had been saved. She lived on. For what?

  She shook out the curls. Tucked the hair behind her ears and waited for her chest to stitch itself back over the anger—afraid she might otherwise crumple and burst into flames.

  What now, Virginia Campbell?

  Tourmaline. Tourmaline needed her to keep going. Jason was waiting for her to return with parts for her truck. And though she was not loved, she hoped. And hope spurred her on.

  She took a deep breath and turned on the water. Unrolled a large section of toilet paper and stuffed it into her pockets. Left the lights on and the water running.

  On her knees, she peered underneath the door; the hall was empty. She carefully opened the door and looked in the other direction. Voices came from farther up front, but none of them sounded like Hazard. Everything looked clear.

  She had one shot. One place to look. O
ne roll of the fucking dice. It was either the room with nothing but files, Hazard’s office with the door ajar, or the back room she’d only been able to glance at.

  Virginia locked the bathroom door and closed it, then quietly scurried into the small room and scanned the shelves. 7602XF-1842066. Come on, 7602XF-1842066. Down. Across. Back. It had to be here. It had to.

  Voices came sharper. Closer. Hazard was coming, somewhere down the labyrinth of halls.

  Panic weighted her chest, and her mouth tightened into a firm line. She kept scanning the tiny beige serial numbers printed on the cardboard. The box wasn’t here. She’d chosen wrong. Shit. She bit her cheek and kept going anyway.

  There.

  Bottom shelf, far side. She snatched the box out and dug through it.

  The .38 rested under a stack of aging files.

  Hazard’s voice echoed down the hall.

  Virginia’s heart slammed, but she forced herself to dig the toilet paper out of her pocket and carefully wrap it around the gun. Now what? One end was covered, but if she slid the gun into her waistband, her skin would be on the barrel. She hadn’t thought of that. But she didn’t have anywhere else to put it. Staring, she tried to think.

  The lights hummed. A coffeepot gurgled.

  Hazard.

  She hit the wall behind the door just in time.

  Hazard’s profile passed by the crack in the hinges. Talking with the same guy who’d picked her up.

  “Do you think she’s playing you?” the man asked Hazard.

  “Nah.”

  Virginia closed her eyes. A small thread of relief mixed in with the panic.

  “But I’m done with her anyway. She’s unpredictable.”

  Her eyes sprang open.

  “What do you want me to do?” the man asked.

  “Make it look like they did it. Dump her at the clubhouse. That’s all I want.”

  She held her breath as they turned in to Hazard’s office. Sweat rolled down her back. The toilet-paper-wrapped gun was still in her hands. A distraction. Had this been the plan the entire time? What now, Virginia Campbell?

  “She still in there?” Hazard asked.

  Virginia’s pulse raced.

  The guy stepped into the hall and looked toward the bathroom. If he glanced a little to the left, he’d see her there, pressed against the wall behind the open door. “Yeah,” he said to Hazard, stepping back into the office.

  Virginia took a slow, careful breath and tipped her head to the dusty drop ceiling.

  If she was going to die anyway, she was going to go on her terms. The back door was dead-bolted, but the front door was open for the law firm’s business hours. She closed her eyes and saw herself do it—move out from behind the door, slip into the hall, and run for the door. She’d drop over the guardrail across the road, into the culvert, and run down the creek toward the train tracks. If she ran very fast and had a good amount of luck, he might not catch her.

  One. Two. Three. Go.

  Virginia didn’t move. Her legs were weak. Her lungs wouldn’t work. She would wither here behind the door until they closed it one day and found a skeleton of dust with a gun at her feet.

  Forcing her eyes open, she gathered her resolve. Tourmaline needed her. Jason needed her. There was no giving in until they put her in the grave.

  She couldn’t see Hazard from behind the door. But the other man stood just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets, listening to Hazard’s instructions. In a few seconds, they’d check the bathroom and she’d be out of time. This was her chance. Wiggling out of her shirt, she wrapped it around the gun and stuffed the whole thing in the waistband of her jeans.

  Taking one leaping step around the door, she cut into the hall and ran like hell.

  “Hey!” someone yelled behind her.

  But she was out the door, into the heavy heat and sky. She bolted across the street. Someone laid on the horn. She didn’t stop to look. Scrambling up the guardrail, she jumped into the leafy void.

  Her feet hit the rocks and she crumpled into the stream. The rocks slipped and splashed out from underneath her, but she ran, ignoring the pain pulsing through her bones.

  Something tight and metallic whizzed through the leaves above her head.

  She knew then that she was dead.

  Doubling her speed, she skittered for the tracks like a rabbit on the run, not stopping until she’d caught a swaying coal train on the Norfolk Southern line, gun still smashed into her stomach.

  Tucked into the ladder of the car, she dug her phone out of her jeans pocket and texted Tourmaline.

  Got it. Did you?

  Tourmaline texted back. Yep. Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow.

  Virginia kept the phone tight in her fist, watching the oaks turn to spruces. The railroad grade fell away into steep rocky banks as the coal train climbed into the mountains—taking her out of Roanoke and northwest toward Lexington. Toward home.

  The blue haze that always lay over the ridges turned purple and menacing. The wind whipped her loose curls into a frenzy, and the air tasted of rain and electricity. She took a deep breath. And another. The train rocked and kept on.

  Taking her home.

  Tourmaline had always looked up to feel safe. To the ridgeline swept across fathomless blue sky. To the jagged outcroppings and exposed meadows. To the eternal shadows deep in the folds of the mountains.

  The sight of the ridges, always on the horizon, did something she never really bothered to explain to herself—as if she’d been formed out of their dirt and it was the gurgling mountain creeks and the muddy James and Cowpasture rivers that flowed in her veins. As if she had crawled out of honeysuckle, bloomed in a humid night, and wandered under the stars before making her way to her crib. She looked to them, as if to her true mother—always there, always watching.

  The Appalachians. The Blue Ridges. Those places outsiders drove around and tried not to get lost in had been there the whole time, watching the world give them a wide berth, just as it did her family. Iron Gate was held tight in the still-pulsing umbilical cord of the Great Appalachian Valley. Closed in on all sides, but with plenty of open sky.

  Here, she belonged.

  But never had she felt so much a child of those hills as when she dropped Virginia off in Roanoke and headed deep into the mountains, turning her truck up Sheep Creek Road to face the sheer gravel switchbacks.

  Her parents had lied. The world, with the crib and its toys and those people, was never hers. But the rocks and trees would never deny her. It was as if they’d been waiting this whole time to accept her back into their wild folds.

  With her heart pounding in the back of her throat, she stared at the trees climbing up the mountainside, and the stranger kudzu vines tangling pockets of darkness overhead.

  The truck skidded around the first turn and kicked up a cloud of gravel; in the rearview, a great swirl of golden dust billowed into the hanging emerald leaves.

  Tourmaline smiled.

  This place was deceptive. It made you feel alone in the wilderness. Here, on a deeply rutted gravel road that had long been abandoned, the place made you feel that way, and all the while it betrayed you.

  Dust whispered to the trees. The trees whispered to one another. And the wind whispered to those faces that remained, warning them that someone had dropped down off that slick, manufactured parkway and entered through the ancient gates.

  The ghosts were awakened. They picked up their muskets from the apple orchards and climbed out of moss-covered tombs, watching from deep inside the oak and hickory forests.

  Tourmaline pressed on. Slower. Balancing the power needed to climb the mountain and the care needed so she wouldn’t kick up traitorous dust along the way.

  Her mother’s directions were not all that helpful. Tourmaline passed several houses tucked back deep in the hollows. But she kept on, deeper into the mountain, trusting that her mother had told her enough, and the mountain and its ghosts would accept her as one of its own. She fough
t the ruts and bounced up another twisting pass, trying not to look down the sheer drop-offs. Jason and Cash were still trying to smash Virginia’s truck back into drivable shape. She didn’t need to add her truck to their list.

  The sun streamed in dazzling, white-hot bursts over the valley, and there was a lot of daylight still left for those rolling plains. But here, tucked deep against the mountain’s side, a shadow had descended. Some places she passed were always in shadow.

  Tourmaline rolled down her window and turned off the air-conditioning. Slowing the truck as much as she dared, she scanned the woods for signs of a cabin. For Wayne’s cabin.

  The road grew rougher. The trees narrowed overhead. Giant, lichen-covered boulders now marked the hairpin turns.

  Finally, something brown and thinly horizontal caught her eye. Pressing the brake, wishing for a gun with a scope or for binoculars, she peered into the leafy shadows and studied the crooked, steep slope.

  Slowly, the forest released its secret. The enchantments drew back, and she blinked at Wayne’s house, clear as day, hunkered beneath the now groaning and creaking trees.

  The breeze poured in the window, lifting her hair off her shoulders and bringing the scent of wild onion and mint—and the trail of something unnatural and poisonous.

  She’d been worried that at this moment she would falter. Faced with the reality, what would she do? But she felt no hesitation. If anything, she was assured.

  The mucky green cast to the weathered boards hid the cabin well. Rust stains streaked the low-slung metal roof. Shoving the emergency brake to the floor, Tourmaline tucked her hair into her shirt, put on a crushed camo hat from behind the seat, and got out.

  Closer, she saw that the windows were covered over with cardboard. Cans of paint thinner and drain cleaner lined the porch and littered the leaves around the house. She didn’t see a truck or car, but as she hunkered into the brush, the wind died long enough to let her hear a radio playing inside, and boots scuffing over the floor.

  The sun sank far behind the ridge. The shadows deepened to huckleberry blue and bruised plum. The spiders spun their silver-corded webs. And somewhere far above her, the faint sound of thunder rolled through the ridge.