by Kade, Teagan
“That’s right,” continues Hernandez. “You used to run the show. In their eyes you’re still the go-to. We’re in this together, just like inside.”
“This is nothing like that.”
“You think just because there are no bars it’s so different out here? It’s all the same. We’re all masters to someone.”
“Not me.”
“You more than anyone. For you it’s family, that bacon-ass stepsister of yours. If we don’t sort this soon, if they find out who she is, then she’s in real trouble.”
There’s a loud sound in the background. “I’ve got to go,” and with that Brock hangs up leaving me shell-shocked, wondering what the hell he meant by all that but now more certain than ever he’s not behind this. No, it’s all Hernandez, that slimy fuck. I have a need to go down there and shove my Glock right up his ass for even starting this shit in the first place.
I go to take off the headphones, but Barbie-Brittany motions for me to keep them on, loading up another track. “Hernandez,” she says, “five minutes later.”
“It’s done,” says Hernandez.
“Who’s he talking to?” I whisper.
Brittany shakes her head. “We don’t know.”
“Where is it?” comes a stranger’s voice.
“In the trunk of his car, under the spare, loaded it in himself.”
“And the delivery?” comes the mystery voice dull and cold.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t keep us waiting too long, Hernandez.”
Line dead.
My reservations return. I can’t figure out what the hell’s going on. There’s only one way to be sure.
*
Dad’s out to it in the main house, Brock likewise sprawled on his bed, cell in his hand. Sprawled on his bed like that he almost looks peaceful, free of worry. I want more than anything to lie down next to him, press my lips against the side of his neck, take in his scent.
I carefully walk up beside the bed and take his keys in my hand, hooking them up with one finger.
He gives a murmur and flips over, jeans tented out in erection. I wonder if he’s thinking about me.
The keys burn in my hand hot from having sat around in the sun for so long.
I make my way out to the garage and use the keys to pop the boot of the Camaro. There’s a gym bag in one corner. Hernandez said the stash was under the spare wheel, but I can’t resist. I pull the zip on the gym bag and reach in.
I pull out a small stack of photos, the colors faded and the corners frayed. I’m looking at a picture of myself when I was sixteen, tequila bottle in hand and Brock next to me with a goofy drunk-as-a-skunk smile on his face. We look happy, like really happy.
I remember that night, the big D&M. Amongst the liquor we’d found Dad’s old Polaroid camera, snapped off a few frames. I flick through the rest, the film glossy. I actually stand there getting nostalgic, but why would he have these? Why would he hang onto them?
I look through the rest of the bag, but there’s not much to see. There’s an old NASCAR race guide, a picture of Brock’s dad on the podium. The resemblance is striking.
There’s a birth certificate in there, an old Transformer, just sentimental junk. My fingers close around a CD. I pull it out.
It’s a mix I made for Brock when I must have been fourteen or fifteen, when he first lived with us. I was big into Green Day back then, Feeder, the Foo Fighters… ‘For the Brockstar’ I’d written on the front of the CD in fancy cursive. Was it so obvious I was crushing on him even back then? Did he even care?
Looking at his prized objects, it looks like he did. It looks like I was at the forefront of his thoughts this entire time.
I pick out a final slip of paper. It’s the discharge form from prison. It dawns on me that’s what all this stuff is, everything he had with him in prison. I think of my picture on his wall, the countless hours he must have spent lying there thinking about me.
I put everything back in and zip the bag back up, pushing it to the side and lifting the floor of the boot away to reveal the spare. For a minute I’m relieved when I don’t see anything… and then I see the corner of something. I lift the wheel and there, just like Hernandez said, is the stash, five or six bricks of ice. There’s no doubting it. This isn’t sugar. These boys aren’t out to bake a cake.
It’s Brock car, I tell myself. Of course he knows it’s here. Hernandez says Brock loaded it himself. He lied. He’s probably onto you, trying to put you off with the call.
I close the boot and look down into a distorted version of myself in the black gloss of the paintwork. Brock, what’s going on?
“Need some help?”
I spin around, heart pumping.
It’s Hernandez.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hernandez holds his belt. “Looking for something?”
Think. “I left some clothes in here.”
Hernandez nods. I can’t tell whether he’s taken the bait. He looks around. “Took me a while to find this place. He’s real on the down-low about his personal details, that brother of yours.”
Hernandez takes a step closer. My piece is inside. I’m naked out here if he tries something.
The balls. He makes for me and I’m going to hammer his balls so hard he’ll be burping them out for weeks.
He sees me shift harder against the body of the car. “Hey, there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m not who you think I am. All that stuff with the bikers, and Birdie, it’s been taken care of. One of the other guys was running again, but we got to the bottom of it.” Lie. “Your brother’s clean.” Lie?
“And you,” I ask, “are you clean?”
“When I want to be. At all other times I like to be dirty—real dirty.”
The filthy shit thinks I’m actually going to fall for a line like that. “You’re not running?”
“Of course not.”
“Those bikers seemed pretty sure of it.”
He takes another step closer. He smells of cheap tobacco. “You’re the cop. You tell me.”
“I don’t deal with that stuff.”
“No, you’re too busy running the beat, huh? Real police work.”
“Yeah.”
“Probably for the best.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Just sayin’. People who get mixed up in what we do, what we did,” he corrects, “sooner or later they get burned.” His eyes drop down by body in an ‘S’, lingering on my crotch. “And I would hate to see a body like yours damaged in any way.”
I push past him. “I’ve got to go. Brock’s in the flat if you want to see him.”
Back in the safety of Champers, I take a deep breath. Stick to the plan.
*
I drive down to see Alice again before she leaves to head back to Rosie.
“You okay?” she says, buttering up a mud scone while we watch the gym junkies at the beach oiling themselves and pumping iron. It’s like a crazy kind of body circus here—freaks galore. “You seem a little, I don’t know, tense.”
I snort into my coffee. “You could say that.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I know we only just got in touch together again, but if you need help, even just an open ear, you let me know, okay? You could Skype me. We do have that kind of technology in Rosie now.”
“Oh, I thought you were still using cans and wires?”
She laughs, warm and friendly, the kind of laugh only country people seem to be able to produce. “You’d be surprised by how forward-thinking Rosie has become since you and your folks left.”
“It’s just, that guy I’m seeing, the one I told you about? I’m not sure I can trust him.”
Alice watches me carefully. “Everybody has trust issues, Maddy. That’s universal. I know I had them when I met my guy. He was, how shall I put it, kind of a criminal.”
“He wasn’t into cars, was he?”
“Matter of fact…”
; “You not sure we’re seeing the same guy?”
Alice laughs. “No chance, but I do know where you’re coming from. I don’t know. I just had to trust my gut.”
“Funny, that’s the exact opposite of the advice I’ve been getting.”
“Well, take it or leave it, but it worked out well for me, why not for you? You deserve it, right?”
“Like Donald Trump deserves a kick to the head.”
We both laugh at that, some of the former tension I’ve been keeping slipping away again in this dip into the old and comfortable.
*
Brock’s waiting for me when I come into the granny flat. He’s got two glasses of lemonade waiting, mint and all.
I close the door. “Where’d you get the mint?”
“Your neighbor’s garden.”
“Charming.”
He pushes a glass closer. “A peace offering. Come on, take it.”
“We’re not kids again. Lemonade isn’t going to make it all better. It’s not going to make this all go away.”
“Try it and see.”
I pick up the glass and take a sip. It’s actually fucking good, but I don’t let on. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? I’ve been squeezing lemons for the last half-hour.”
“I thought you were having a big pow-wow with Hernandez.”
“He stopped by, wanted to talk, but I told him where I stand. I got back into the club because I thought it was clean—just cars, racing. If they’re running for the cartel again I’m just going to have to find a new hobby.”
“Knitting?”
He stands up and cautiously places his hands on my hips, pulling me close. In the filtered sun his eyes are endless oceans. “I could think of other hobbies… group hobbies.”
“You think you can just charm your way out of this?”
His hand slides up under my shirt, brushing over my belly. “Yeah, I kind of think I can.”
I push him away. Time for confession. “I never told you, but I spoke to Dad. He confirmed your story about that night. You’re telling the truth.”
“And that comes as a surprise?”
I sit down on the couch, take another sip. Stuff’s damn addictive. “I just don’t know where I stand with you. It’s complicated.”
He sits next to me, plucking a strand of my hair and rolling it between his fingers. “It doesn’t have to be. Let me show you.”
“Aren’t you supposed to meet with those bikers, the threat, Birdie? Don’t you remember any of this? Or don’t you care?”
“Hernandez gave me his word he sorted it all out.”
“You actually believe him?”
“When you live on top of someone for as long as we did, you get to know them, like really know them. He says he fixed it, I believe him.”
I sigh. “Whatever.”
Brock heads to the counter and picks up his keys. He tosses me a jacket.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“We’re going out?”
“Why?”
“I think we both need a bit of fresh air, to relax a little. Can you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“There’s nothing for it then. Meet you outside in five.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Outside, it’s getting cold, a storm moving onto the horizon fresh and hot from the desert beyond.
Brock’s Camaro is the same color as the mottled sky above as we punch through the gloom on the way out of town. It’s coming into the weekend. Everyone’s headed home to their families and roasts and perfect lives.
We don’t speak at first. Instead, I focus on the whip-whipping of the windshield wipers clearing the glass. My pussy’s wet against the leather, wet against the crotch of my panties, the seat of my jeans. I’m annoyed at him, but I still have urges. I’m still horny. I wonder whether he can smell my arousal. In a twisted way, I hope he can.
“Where are we going?”
He smiles. “My secret.”
I make a motion of zipping my mouth back up.
We approach the airport, moving past the terminal and around to the industrial area at the rear. Brock pulls up to a security box.
“Um, I don’t think we should be here,” I caution.
Brock just smiles, winding down his window. “Relax.”
A tubby guy approaches and bends down next to the window. He reaches in and takes Brock’s hand. For a second I think they’re going to arm-wrestle it out.
“Brock, my man, how the hell are you?”
“Good, good, Freddie. I want you to meet my stepsister, Maddy.”
Freddie reaches over and clutches my hand. “A pleasure. Heard a lot about you.”
“So everyone keeps saying,” I mutter, punching Brock in the arm.
Freddie places his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “You got a real good brother here, a really good guy.”
“We right to head down to the spot, Freddie?”
Freddie stands up nodding. “For sure. You know the way.”
“Thanks, Freddie, I owe you one.”
“You owe me ten,” Freddie laughs. “Have fun.”
Brock winds his window up and we drive on as the boom gate opens. It’s not long before I realize we’re driving inside the actual airport zone. There’s a booming sound above, a jumbo jet landing just ahead of us.
“Whoa!” I stammer. “Did you see that? You sure we’re supposed to be here.”
Brock smiles, glancing sideways. “Of course not, but what’s fun that’s not illegal?”
I press my thighs together. “I could think of a few things.”
We’re on the actual tarmac. Holy fuck we’re dead.
We’re running perpendicular to the actual airstrip now, glowing markers passing by.
A jumbo jet is on the strip. I’m looking right down at it, picking up speed fast and heading straight towards us.
“Ah, Brock.”
He’s focused on driving. “I see it.” He boots the accelerator and we go flying ahead, the jet taking off and lifting just over us. I’m surprised the wheels don’t peel our roof off.
“You are insane.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Brock makes for a series of concrete structures near the end of the strip. It’s a good thing his car’s black. It blends in. Anything else and we’d be done in an instant, the Feds, the cops… every man and his dog converging on this space.
Brock pulls up between two concrete huts and cuts the engine. He pops his door open, the humid air hammering in. “Come on.”
I open my door and step out, the smell of jet fuel mixing with the imminent dampness of precipitation above. A ribbon of lightning cuts across the sky to the north.
Brock swings himself up onto the bonnet of the car, lying with his back against the windscreen. He pats the bonnet beside him.
I sit up onto the bonnet and take the same position. It’s actually quite comfortable.
I see that this spot is remarkably well hidden. We’re sort of fenced in by concrete from every side.
Brock cups his ear. “Listen.”
I listen. The sound of engines coming on strong, something drawing nearer and nearer. He takes my hand. “Wait for it.”
The sound grows and builds, the body of the car vibrating below my back.
A jumbo goes screaming over our heads, my hair whipping around my face and my scream drowned out by the engines. It’s so close I could reach up and touch the wheels.
It disappears and I’m still vibrating.
“Real thrill, huh? Better than sex.”
I look to Brock wiping hair from my face. “Says you.”
I hear more planes in the distance on taxi.
I start speaking to the sky. “Let me guess, this is where you bring all the girls, right?”
“A few.”
I shake my head. “And yet you’ve never brought a single one home.”
“I’m not big on commitment.”
“You don’t say.”
“Like you are any better. Who’s the last guy you dated?”
There was a fling or two at the academy, some MMA freak a year or two ago. I had to change my phone number after that, but since? Nothing. I regularly have to dust out the cobwebs between my legs. “You wouldn’t know him.”
“Suit yourself.”
Brock squeezes my hand and another jet goes flying over us, the same rush following. I breathe in a lung of jet fuel and relax back, waiting for the noise to dissipate. “You know, Dad told me you’re not such a bad guy.”
Brock plays coy. “He did, huh?”
“I seem to be hearing that a lot lately.”
“It’s true.”
I roll onto my side, well aware of our physical proximity, the sweat building on my brow and under my clothes even though the humid air is chilling fast. “I owe you an apology. I’ve been a bitch.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
I roll back onto the glass, the moment lost. “You didn’t want to try anything when you found me like that? Most guys your age… a half-naked girl, too drunk to argue otherwise. It was dark, right? You didn’t see much.”
“Oh, I saw enough.”
I roll back onto my side, fingers hot laced together. “What does that mean?”
He’s staring at the sky, refusing to make eye contact. “You’ve got to remember I was a horny teenager. It was dark, but not that dark. You were really… on show.”
Even now I’m blushing. “And you weren’t the least bit excited?”
He laughs. “I went back to my room, took down my pants and pulled my dick maybe two or three times before I spooged all over that Eminem album you loved so much.”
“I was wondering where that got to. Oh, and you’re disgusting.”
“It wasn’t the first time, believe me.”
I sit up and force him to look at me, nipples growing stiff against the cotton cups of my bra, my head swimming.
I duck as another plane takes off, both of us locked together, just staring at one another.
“What do you mean? You masturbated to me before?”
“All the time.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Maddy? It’s always been about you. All these other girls, these flings… They’re not you. I even stole your panties once.”