by Glenn Trust
“Come on in, Ray. Join the party.”
Guzman stepped inside and took a seat on one of the folding chairs that had been placed around the room to accommodate Peña’s men. “I have news, from Trinidad.”
“Good. About damn time.” Budroe swung his legs off the old sofa where he had been reclined and sat up straight. “Where’s the meeting gonna be?”
Guzman relayed the location and description of the old ranch that Soto‘s men had selected. Peña made notes as he spoke, asking an occasional question.
When he had reviewed the location, he added, “Soto proposes a meeting first between your men and his, to ensure that there are no mistakes.”
Budroe gave a deep laugh. “I think I like this Soto. He thinks like me.” He looked at Peña. “Take care of it.”
Peña nodded and made another note.
“I will be leaving soon.” Budroe looked at Guzman. “You will stay here.”
“Of course.” Guzman shrugged. Where the hell was he going to go? “When are you leaving.”
“Soon. I have business to take care of…personal.”
Guzman looked at the big man, sitting in his shorts, barefoot, smoking a cigar in the cramped house, completely at home. These were his surroundings. No amount of money would change him.
The personal business, no doubt had something to do with the blood debt he felt he was owed by the deputy in Georgia. That too would not change.
Guzman nodded. “I will be here.”
“Yes you will, Ray.”
29. Personal
The evening crowd was thinning, just the hard-core drinkers left, when Henry Schulls came into Pete’s Place. He nodded at Lonna behind the bar and walked into the back room. When she came in, she found him leaned back on the tattered old office chair, feet up on the small desk, surrounded by cases of whiskey and beer.
“You look comfortable.”
“Long day.” He closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. “He call yet?”
“Nope. Anytime now.” Lonna pushed a stack of old newspapers off a plastic chair and sat down. “He’s been kinda out of touch last few days. Just a quick call in the mornings.”
“Yeah. I think he’s making plans.”
“More plans? Shit we’re doin’ everything he wants. You’ve already added three operations, inventory, runners and all.” Lonna lit a cigarette and filled the small space with smoke.
Henry opened his eyes and wrinkled his nose. “You gotta do that in here? Jesus, I could suffocate.”
“My office. You can leave any time you want.” She turned her head and blew a stream of smoke towards the door.
“That don’t help.”
Lonna shrugged. “So what kind of plans you think he’s got in mind?”
“Personal.” Henry closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the smoke. “He said he would be tied up on some personal shit.”
“Personal? What’s that mean?”
“It means personal, Lonna. As in, his own business.” Jesus, Henry thought. Sometimes he wondered why Budroe kept her around. She might have been a good lay once, but now?
“I know what personal means, asshole. Just tryin’ to figure out what it might be.”
“Well, if you had to pick something that Roy was really pissed off about and wanted to get back at, what would it be?” He sat up straight, putting his feet back on the floor. Lonna wasn’t going to give him any peace. They might as well talk.
“You mean Mackey and that sheriff?”
“Only thing I can think of that Roy might want to even things up for.”
“Jesus, like some sort of Hatfield and McCoy shit?”
“I don’t think the Hatfields and McCoys could hold a candle to what Budroe might do if he gets his hands on Mackey.” Henry shook his head and chuckled. “Good God almighty, I wouldn’t want to clean that mess up.”
The cell phone on the desk rang. Henry answered.
“Yeah.”
“You both there?”
“We’re here.”
“Good. Talk to me.”
“Hit the Valdosta operation. We got the one we want. He’s scared shitless, but he’s on board. Probably grosses fifty thousand a month. After expenses, payouts to him and his people we’ll net twenty grand.”
“Small time.”
“Yeah not huge, but it’s growing Roy, just like you said. Every little bit adds to the pie.
“Lonna?”
“Things are good here. Keeping a low profile like you said. Everything legitimate here at the bar. The girls are working the truck stops instead of takin’ drop in business here. Takes more time, not as many tricks, but it keeps us in the game.”
The two lieutenants answered Budroe’s questions for several more minutes. Then he dropped the bombshell.
“I’m back.”
“What?” Henry looked at Lonna. “Where?”
“Close. Best you don’t know where, just yet.”
“Is that a good idea, Roy?” Lonna’s concern was not altruistic. It was driven by the fear that her dreams of fortune might go up in smoke if Budroe got careless.
“If I didn’t fucking think it was a good idea, I wouldn’t be doin’ it. I got some things to take care of.”
“Anything we can help with?” Henry leaned close to the phone. Budroe had always relied on the two of them. It wasn’t like him to just cut them out completely.
“No, I got it covered, but there will be some new people comin’ around. They will ask for you. You’ll know who they are by what they tell you. Set them up, take care of them. Rooms at the StarLite, meals, drinks, whatever.” He paused while they absorbed his instructions. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Do what they tell you to do.”
The order did not sit well with his two chief lieutenants. Do what they were told by someone other than Budroe? They remained silent, considering the implications.
Budroe was annoyed by their silence. “You two fuckin’ hear what I said?”
“We heard, Roy. It’s just…” Lonna knew she was on dangerous ground, questioning his instructions, but goddamnit this was taking them out of the picture. “It’s just that, well, you never done that before. You know, send someone to watch over us and the business…like maybe you don’t trust us.”
“Got nothin’ to do with trustin’ you. They’re not comin’ about the business. They’re comin' to help me. When they tell you to do something, do it. It'll be same as me tellin' you. Understand?”
They spoke in unison. “We understand.”
“Good, once these things are taken care of we can get back to normal, focus on the business, but this is personal.”
Henry looked at Lonna and nodded with an ‘I told you so smile’. Personal.
30. Everything Else Was Gone
Peering into the night, Sharon clutched Fel’s gnarled old hand and waited. It was nearing ten o’clock when the headlights turned off the road and bounced up the drive to the house.
“We’ll be around, George, if you need us.” Bill Twilley turned in his seat and put his hand through the open prisoner screen. “Swain talked the director into keeping us on assignment here.” He chuckled. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t have to talk too hard.”
“Hope I won’t, but thanks for the ride, anyway.” George returned the handshake, anxious to be out of the car.
John Simpson put his hand out when Twilley withdrew his. “Really sorry about all this, Deputy Mackey.” Watching George throughout the ordeal of the press coverage and the preliminary, he had come to question the orders that had sent him and his partner to Pickham County to arrest the deputy. “Wish we’d met you some other way.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over it. Doin’ your job, that’s all.”
George stepped from the rear door, gave a short wave while Twilley backed the car away, and then mounted the steps, taking Sharon into his arms as he reached the porch. They embraced clinging to each other. Sharon held on, as if making
sure it was really him. Satisfied that it was, she lowered her head, letting it rest against his chest. His arms tightened around her, his face buried in her hair.
Fel, stoic, trying not to show emotion waited and smiled. He reached in the cooler and pulled out a can.
“Got a cold one for you, George, if you’ll quit dawdlin’ with that woman.” He held the can up in the dim light filtering out onto the porch from the house.
“God, it’s good to see you.” He took the can from Fel.
“God almighty. Only been a few days, George. You’d think we was holdin’ a wake or something.”
“Welcome home, Mackey,” Sharon whispered.
They sat together, the three of them until after midnight. The uncertainty of his homecoming had been a strain beyond anything they had experienced before. Aware that the next time he left, the outcome could be much different, they lingered on the porch, reluctant to end the night, hoping the hours together might somehow return everything to normal.
But there were too many unknowns. George would not sugar coat what had happened in the woods with the killer. It would be in the hands of the jury. Their decision would determine whether he spent the rest of his life in prison.
Finally, Fel stood and stretched. “Time to turn in, I think.” He looked at the two, the closest thing to children that he had. He swallowed hard trying to control his voice. “You too. Go on to bed and let this old man get some sleep. I got mowin’ to do tomorrow.”
They knew that Fel would sit up all night just to be near them if they stayed on the porch. He knew that they needed to be alone.
George led Sharon by the hand to the apartment over the barn. They undressed quickly and lay close together in the bed, skin touching along the length of their bodies. George’s arm was wrapped tightly around her, holding her to him, not wanting to let go, to lose contact. His hands buried themselves in her hair, letting it sift softly through his fingers.
Her head nestled against him, Sharon’s lips brushed his chest and moved up his neck. Her tongue gently touched him and then moved away, only to touch him again.
He lifted her gently on top of him. Their kiss was soft and tender, slowly building the passion that they had pushed deep down inside. When she rose up to take him in, his hands held her hips and then slowly moved to her breasts.
They made love slowly, savoring each movement, each touch, not wanting it to end. After, Sharon stretched out on top of him. They lay, George holding her close against him, feeling her breath, her heart beating against his chest where his own beat.
This was their world, their time, together. Everything else was gone, the pain, the hurt, being without each other. He was home.
31. Insurance Policy
“They are on the ground.” Marques Peña lowered the cell phone as he spoke. “A couple of hours more on the road before they arrive.”
Budroe, seated on the sofa in the Heron Run house, nodded. “Good.” He looked through the glass door to the backyard where Guzman strolled, taking one of his frequent strolls about the property. Peña’s men were close behind. “That boy does a lot of walkin’.”
“That boy, as you call him, is nervous.”
Budroe bobbed the cigar in Guzman’s direction. “He should be.”
“And when you have completed the arrangements with his Trinidad connections, what is to become of Mr. Guzman?” Peña was relaxed. He knew his ground and that he stood securely upon it, a luxury Ramón Guzman lacked. Marques Peña was one of the few people that Budroe allowed to discuss his personal business plans.
“Haven’t decided yet.” Thick fingers turning the cigar slowly, he inhaled the smoke thoughtfully.
“He thinks you will kill him.”
“I might.” Budroe nodded, and then turned to Peña. “Has he said that to you?”
“No, not in words. I can see it in his face. The way he acts.”
“Yeah, he's nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” Budroe laughed softly.
“Some advice?”
Budroe turned his head to Peña. “Go on.”
“A cat, or a man, that has nothing left to hope for, has nothing left to fear. He becomes a very dangerous animal.” Peña motioned to Guzman, making his way down the back yard slope to the bay. “Perhaps you should give him some hope, some thought about his own personal survival…or make the decision to end it, end the threat.”
“You may be right.” Budroe nodded thoughtfully. “It might be time to give Señor Guzman some responsibilities.” He looked into Peña’s eyes. “But only with you there, watching.” Budroe smiled. “You, Marques, are my insurance policy.”
The top of Guzman’s head disappeared down the hill, the guards following to one side.
“As you wish.”
32. Pay George A Visit
“Busy today.” Hamburger grasped in both hands, Mike Darlington looked through the window of Fran’s Café onto the courthouse square in Everett.
“Does seem to be a lot of new people in town.” Sheriff Davies munched his own sandwich, thinking. After the murder of Carl Stevens and the discovery that it was probable that he had been a drug courier, they were acutely sensitive to anything out of the ordinary in Pickham County. The idea that Roy Budroe was back in business, or had never been out of business sat heavy in their minds.
Four men on chopped motorcycles came around the corner and circled the square. One pulled into a parking space across the street. The others made one more circuit and rode loudly, but slowly, out of town, abiding every conceivable traffic law.
“See that big boy in leathers, just got off the bike?” Darlington was no longer interested in his food.
“Yeah. Seen him around before. Not sure where.” Davies rested both elbows on the table, peering through the glass, studying the man.
“Luke McCrory. They call him Big Luke.”
Sandy nodded. “I’ll bet they do. Big son of a bitch.”
“Yeah. Had a couple of run-ins with him before. Nothing too big. Mostly just being mouthy…” He looked at the sheriff. “Out at Pete’s Place.”
“Figures he’d be one of Budroe’s boys. Reckon he knows where Roy is right about now?”
“He might, but I doubt it. Don’t think Budroe trusts anyone that much, not even Big Luke.”
Circling the square once, the way the bike rider had done, a super-duty, king cab pickup pulled in beside the motorcycle. The driver got out leaned against the truck and spoke to Big Luke.
‘Notice how he circled before parking? Careful like, checking things out.” Darlington squinted through the glass into the afternoon sun. “You know him?”
“Nope. Can’t say as I do, but he knows Big Luke.”
“How long we gotta be here?” Luke lit up a cigarette and shot a look at Fran’s Café and the two sheriff’s units parked along the curb.
“Not long. They’re on the ground. Landed in Jacksonville. Should be here soon.” Henry Schulls lit up his own smoke and peered around the square. “Relax. We’re just a couple of good ol’ boys havin’ a smoke.”
“Don’t know why we had to meet them here.”
“Because it’s easier to find. Told you, the ones Roy’s sendin’ ain’t from around here.”
“They can read a goddamned map, can’t they?”
Schulls shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Budroe said meet them here. Make sure they didn’t get lost. He didn’t want them wanderin’ around aimless, having to stop and ask directions from some deputy.” He smiled at Luke. “You wanna call him and argue the point with him? I’ll be happy to wait here while you do.”
“Fuck you, Henry.” Luke lit up another cigarette, trying not to stare at the window of Fran’s Café. He could feel the eyes inside on him.
“You boys are awful quiet today, Sheriff. Just staring out at the scenery. Everything all right?”
Sandy turned his head. “Just fine, Fran. Two more Cokes.”
“Okay, coming up. Set here long enough and I’ll have supper
ready for you.”
“Probably won’t be here that long, Fran.” Mike spoke without taking his eyes off the two men across the street.
Halfway through the second round of Cokes, a silver Chevrolet van pulled in on the other side of the motorcycle. Luke and the pickup driver approached and spoke through the passenger window. Sandy and Mike could make out the silhouettes of several people inside, but no one got out of the van. It was impossible to identify any of the occupants.
After exchanging a few words, Luke straddled the chopper and turned the engine over. He used his feet to back it out of the diagonal space along the curb and then pulled slowly around the square, followed by the van. The pickup brought up the rear of the small procession.
“Hmm. Florida plates on the van.” Mike made a note of the tag in his notepad.
“Yeah. Bet it’s a rental.”
“No doubt.” Mike tucked the pad back in his shirt pocket. “Where you think they’re from? Pretty much guarantee it’s not Florida.”
Sandy looked at Mike as the three vehicles left the square. “Don’t know, but I’ll bet I know where they’re headed.”
“Yep. That van will be outside Pete’s Place in half an hour. Maybe we should go pay them a visit.”
“Maybe, but we’ve done that before.” Sandy leaned back in the chair twirling the icy glass of Coke on the table’s formica top. “Sure would be nice to know what’s going on in Roydon…what Budroe’s up to. We need someone inside.” He looked up from the glass. “We should go pay George a visit.”
33. Not From Around Here
Red and blue neon light from a window beer sign, filtered through the smoky haze, lighting the profiles of the men walking through the door. Henry Schulls crossed to the bar followed by four strangers and Big Luke.
“Everyone made it, I see.” Lonna nodded to the four newcomers. “I’m Lonna.”