by Don Bruns
“So you’re suggesting —”
“That we wait until he’s asleep, and we go in and see what we can find.”
I studied him in the dim light. He was serious. “So, that’s not a crime that will put us in prison?”
“Skipper, if the door is open, I consider it an invitation. If someone wakes up while we’re there, we leave. Tell him we were looking for Thomas LeRoy. Tell him we were looking for a rent receipt.”
“On LeRoy’s computer?”
“It makes no difference. Here’s a better idea. Have five hundred bucks on you and tell him you were going to drop it off on the desk for tomorrow’s payment. Hell, he can’t get mad if you were going to give them money.”
He had a point.
Em rolled her eyes. “Boys, you could go to jail for what you’re doing.”
“Could.” Daron smiled at her from under the brim of the hat. “Won’t.”
I realized I was dealing with a guy who walked out of airports with other people’s stuff. Under the eye of Homeland Security, the airport cops, the TSA, and probably two or three other security companies I don’t even know about. If anyone knew how to get away with shit, Daron Styles was the guy.
“I’m going down to play cards.” James dropped the cigarette on the gravel and ground out the hot tobacco with the heel of his shoe. “You guys can handle the rev’s trailer.”
Was everyone crazy except Em and me?
“Skip? You okay with this?”
“No.”
“We’ll get it done. Look at the big picture, amigo.”
“You’ve got money?” I thought I remembered giving him a stake. I still thought they would hand him his ass tonight, but there was no way to convince him. The game was fixed. I was sure of it.
“I’ve got enough, pard. I’ll come back with another five hundred.”
Daron shook his head. “They control the game, James.”
“Last night, I was hot.”
“You only win if they want you to.”
“Bullshit.”
Daron seemed to bristle. “Well, you live your fantasy. I’ve been in their games, and the full-timers don’t ever let you win unless they want you to. Stan does some pretty impressive card tricks.”
For the first time in my life I was impressed with Daron Styles.
James just smiled, flipped him the bird, turned, and walked down the path, whistling some tune. Whistling in the dark. The phrase was never more appropriate.
I wanted to say, “he’s always right.” But I didn’t. The truth is James thinks he’s invincible most of the time. And most of the time he is.
“It’s about ten thirty, Skipper. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill.”
I saw Em smile. I’m sure she was amused that Styles was calling me Skipper.
“So you think we can just walk into this trailer, and —”
“If we want to get a look at what’s inside, that’s the way to do it”
Em was tapping her fingers on the truck bed. An irritating rhythm.
“Just how are you going to break into this computer? On top of having someone with a gun inside the trailer, it seems highly likely that there’s a code or password to get into the information you want.”
She leaned in like she was trying to read his eyes, which were hidden under the narrow brim of his strange little hat.
“I’ve got it all worked out, little lady.”
She didn’t like that. I could tell by the steam coming from her ears. I don’t think she liked the arrogance or the little lady quip. My turn to smile.
“How’s that?”
He gave her a hard look. “I know the code. Took me a while, but I figured it out.”
“You’ve done this before. What are you —”
“Skipper, I think it’s important we get this information. Now if you don’t want to know what’s going on, I won’t do it. If you want to find out, then just let me do my thing.”
This guy was as cool and confident as anyone I’d ever met. And everything he did was illegal, immoral, and risky as hell. I was almost starting to see what James admired about him.
“What if we get caught? You haven’t addressed that.”
Styles reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out one of those little brown cigars. He took his time lighting it with a match.
“If we get caught, we cover.”
And, as I pointed out, Daron Styles knew how to cover. He’d been covering ever since I knew him. I pointed to Em.
“Tell him about the car.”
“No. It’s silly.”
“You didn’t think so a couple of minutes ago.”
“What car?” Styles asked.
She shrugged. “Someone’s following me.”
“In a Cadillac.”
“Does that have to do with this situation?”
Styles leaned up against the truck, flicking his cigarette butt into the dark.
“It didn’t happen until I saw Skip this morning.”
“You didn’t recognize anyone?”
“No. I got the license.”
“Give it to me.”
She reached into her pocket and handed him a piece of paper. Without saying a word, Styles walked around the truck and I lost sight of him in a few seconds.
“What good is that going to do?” She looked up at me.
“I just think that everyone needs to put their cards on the table.”
“Speaking of which, is James going to be all right by himself?”
“I’m sure he will be. There are six other guys down there. And when did you start worrying about James?”
“Skip, you told me there was a note that may have threatened your lives.”
“I know. But I don’t really think there’s anything to it. It’s a long way from shooting out someone’s tires to killing someone.”
She sat down on the wooden bench between the donut wagon and our truck. We didn’t speak for a couple of minutes. Then, as quietly as he’d left, Styles reappeared, folding his cell phone and holstering it to his belt.
“FBI.” He sat next to Em on the bench.
“What?”
“It’s an FBI car.”
“Em’s car?”
“The car that’s following her.”
“Daron, why the hell is an FBI car following Em?”
“I have no idea. A guess, maybe. And I’m not supposed to know it’s them, but there’s no question about it. It’s the FBI.”
“As in the Federal Bureau of Investigation?” I wasn’t sure that this made any sense.
“What do I have to do to convince you?”
Em spoke up. “Tell us why the FBI would follow me.”
“I can only guess.”
“Guess.” I stared at him, tired of his games.
Styles pulled the hat down and peered out from under the brim.
“Three years ago, somebody gunned down a senator in Washington, D.C.”
“We’ve been over that. Fred Long from Nebraska. Walking to a favorite lunch spot and somebody shot him. What does that have to do with Em?”
“Killing a senator constitutes a federal crime.”
“And?” We almost said it together.
“It’s federal, brother. That means the government gets involved. The FBI has jurisdiction and they’ve been watching this sideshow ever since.”
Em looked at me for clarification.
“I told you, Em, there were rumors that Cashdollar was behind the killing of Fred Long.”
Styles nodded. He was almost a shadow in the dark, but I could see his head bob up and down. “The FBI thinks it’s more than a rumor.”
“But,” Em sounded totally confused, “why me? I’ve been gone for three months. I just got back.”
“This shooting was three years ago.” I waited for Styles to reply.
“It makes no sense.” She sounded mad.
“Hey,” Daron raised his voice. “You said guess. I’m guessing, okay?”
“Go ahead.�
�� I didn’t want to stop him. Actually, some of what he was saying made sense.
“The Feds have been watching the rev’s tent meetings for all this time. For three years. There were even some rumors that the FBI had planted an informant or two with the traveling troupe. The government thinks that the rev’s rant on the senator was responsible for the murder. When I was here, selling my religious artifacts, there were subtle intrusions.”
“Intrusions?” It was obvious Styles loved word games.
“Intrusions. The FBI kept monitoring the events. They’d occasionally send agents to record the services, interview people like Thomas LeRoy, stuff like that. It was pretty quiet, unobtrusive. But I think most of the people associated with this carnival know that they haven’t given up. And, the FBI thinks that everyone who is new to this camp — this freak show — might be a link to the murder.”
“New to the camp? Why wouldn’t they look into all the old-timers? After all, this happened a while back.”
“I think they’re watching the old-timers, too. But if you’re new, they’re definitely interested in you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Conspiracy stuff. Like maybe you worked on the outside, now you’re working on the inside. Who knows what goes through the little brains these guys have? All I know is that the FBI watches anyone who works for the rev. I’m not guessing. That I know.”
I studied his face in the fading light. I never knew how much to believe.
“Okay, but what about the shooting this morning? Somebody taking shots at Barry Romans? Explain that.”
“Explain what?”
“That wouldn’t be a federal crime.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“Of course it matters.”
Styles lit another brown cigar, the flame from his match dancing in the dark.
“Anything that might lead back to the senator’s death is fair game.”
“So the FBI can investigate anything they want to?”
“Son, they are the FBI.”
“But why me?” Em looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Probably just curious. And you two were right near the shooting.”
All this time I’d been thinking about Crayer being near the shooting. Em and I were there too. And Styles was telling me that a federal bureau was following my girlfriend because we had breakfast this morning? Or because I was new to the traveling freak show? Or maybe because she’d come back to town? It was too cryptic for me.
“My God, Daron,” I was in awe of the situation we might be finding ourselves in, “you’re telling me that it’s possible I got Em roped into this because we are doing a three-day tent meeting? Selling burgers and brats is reason for the Federal Government to put a tail on us?”
“Friend,” Daron stood up from the bench, “you asked me to guess.”
“With some degree of certainy.” Em spoke up.
“I have no degree of anything.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
“All right,” I urged him on. “You sound like you know one helluva lot about this for a guy who just spent one three-day meeting with these guys.”
“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “But I don’t want this to get out.” He took a puff on the cigar and the hot tobacco burned brighter. “I had a visit from a guy when I worked here. On the last day he convinced me that I didn’t want to work here any more. He suggested that if I had any outside relationships with the rev and his crew, I break it off with them. He suggested that his organization was looking into the possibility that I was involved in the Washington murder.”
“That’s crazy,” I said. “They could easily check and see if you were in Washington at the time.”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“I was.”
“Oh, shit.”
“I’d been up there working the Georgetown area. Selling some knockoff bags and stuff. Actually, it was a pretty sweet deal. A bunch of us were making some really good scratch. We’d set up a folding table and two guys would do lookout. We could be gone in thirty seconds if we saw any cops or suits. Anyway, somehow they knew that I’d been in the D.C. area.”
“So they threatened you?”
“I’d call it a threat. You see, I think they wanted me to know they suspected me. To see how I reacted. To see if I ran back to Thomas LeRoy or Cash, or whoever. I mean, it must have struck a chord with them — you know, me being in Washington, then me joining Cash and company.”
And I wondered the same thing. Were we hanging with someone who could be a murderer? I wished James was back to hear this story.
“Once you quit, what happened? Did they keep checking on you?” Em was into it now.
“For a while. I’d see a car, catch somebody walking behind me. I didn’t sell any knockoff shit for a couple weeks, because I thought they might arrest me for that.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So it finally ended?”
“I think they realized I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a killer. Although, they desperately want to pin it on somebody.”
“Well, neither of us was in Washington, D.C. three years ago.” I’d never been there in my life. “We were still in school.”
“That’s not true, Skip.” Em put her arm around my neck. “Daddy and I went to some hearings on contracting laws. It was in the summer of that year and I went along to keep him company. I’m pretty sure it was at the same time that the senator was shot.”
“Unbelievable.” I thought back, trying to remember Em being gone. Must have been a couple of weeks when we were out of touch.
“The car that followed Emily was owned by the FBI. I feel pretty certain that my visitor was from a government agency. Em, you and I were both in Washington that summer, so there’s a good chance they’re looking at you.”
“You know, if I’d stayed away just another week, this crap never would have happened.” She took her arm off my neck, stood up, and walked to the truck. She looked it up and down, touching it with her hand. “This damned truck of James’s, it’s already caused its share of problems hasn’t it?”
“Em, it’s not the truck.”
“No. I know it. It’s your roommate. I swear to God, Skip, he gets us into more hot water.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Em and I talked. It was late, and the feelings and the words came slowly. A little about where she’d been for the last three months. Mostly up in the panhandle, staying with a girlfriend. She was disappointed that I’d stayed with the security company. I couldn’t blame her, I was disappointed too. We talked about her job with her father, and we talked about the future. Well, actually we discussed what tomorrow would bring. But in our relationship, it has always seemed to be one day at a time.
“How long are you going to hitch your wagon to James’s star?”
I looked up and could see the stars, dazzling in the Florida sky. “I don’t think that’s fair.”
“Skip, you’re bright, you’re intelligent —”
“I’m up to my ass in college loans. I have applied for other jobs, but with my grades and lack of experience, it just hasn’t happened, Em.”The same argument, the same answers. Emily is a rich bitch and she will never understand the other side of the tracks.
“And I’m still not sure what we’re doing here. We could get into so much trouble.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Daron is the one going in. We’ll simply stand outside and be the lookouts.”
“Still —”
“You were followed by the FBI.”
“We’re to believe that scumbag, Daron Styles? Jeez, Skip, do you remember him in high school? He was a liar, a cheat —”
“Yeah. And you wouldn’t believe what he’s up to now.”
“Don’t even tell me.”
I didn’t. I would have lost my lookout partner if I had.
“The stuff he said makes sense. You know it, I know it. The fact that you really were in Washington,
it’s enough to be concerned that they’re checking you out.”
“Being checked out by the FBI —”
Styles came walking back from the Buick, carrying a shoe box. “Hey, Em. Know anything about Loeffler Randall shoes?”
“What?”
“About the value of Loeffler Randall shoes?” He opened the box and showed her these high-heeled somethings with a thin ankle strap.
“What are you doing with women’s shoes?”
Styles looked at me and I frowned and shook my head. He hesitated, watching me closely. “Oh, nothing. I just sort of found them and wondered if they had any value.” He waited for an answer, and when he got none he tossed the box into the truck. “Well, I’d say it’s about time we stroll back to the trailer and see if our security guy has decided to call it a night.”
I kept thinking about Dusty, the full-timer, the ex-school teacher, the gun-toting security guy from the other end of the path. Maybe they switched off and Dusty was security for the office.
Styles leaned into me, a little closer, and whispered. “Some really good stuff in those bags. Three, maybe four hundred bucks on eBay. Find out about those shoes. Okay?”
We acted like we were just out for a one o’clock stroll. Actually, I figured if anyone saw us they’d know in a heartbeat that we were there to break into Cashdollar’s office. I was sweating, glancing in every direction, and wishing like crazy I hadn’t involved Em. She was right. I got into some really bad scenarios because of my best friend. I mean, here I was doing what could arguably be called the dumbest thing I’d ever done, and not only was it sheer stupidity, but I was dragging Em right along.
“I hope you find something, Daron.”
She sounded almost excited, like it was an adventure.
He whispered, softly. “He keeps a record. Of everything that goes on.” Glancing back at me he said, “The incident with the tires? That will be in the computer. He may even write down why they shot them out, and who shot them out. I’ve just got to see if I can find everything.”
“This record of things that happened,” I whispered back, “I don’t understand why he keeps it. And I really question whether it’s that accessible. I mean if this stuff is damaging to Cashdollar, he’s not going to leave it so you can break in and steal it.”