Diesel Therapy (Selena Book 2)

by Greg Barth

  The gunshot inside the small living room was deafening. Ears ringing, Ragus turned to the other men in the room. “Next,” he said.

  Both men were startled by the gunshot. Ragus stood in a position where he could cover them both with the rifle.

  “Okay, boys,” he said. “Shit got real serious here tonight.”

  “Oh shit,” one guy on the floor said. “Don’t fuckin’ kill me man, please. I got a baby at home.”

  “Whether you live or die is up to you,” Ragus said.

  “Who the fuck are you,” the other guy said. “What’d you go and shoot Jim for?”

  “I asked him a simple question. He was going to lie to me. I can tell when a man’s going to lie, understand? Now I’m going to ask you shitheads the same question. If you dick around with me, you’ll get what he got. You only get one chance to answer, and it better be the most truthful statement you’ve ever given.”

  “Dude, what the fuck?” the guy with the baby at home said.

  Ragus looked down the barrel of the rifle at the man. “I’ll blow your goddamn head off in one second, motherfucker.”

  A strong smell of shit filled the room as the guy lost control of his bowels.

  “Now, here’s the question. The first one of you fucksticks that gives me the right answer gets bonus points.”

  Both men stared up at him with wide eyes.

  Ragus saw headlights coming up the hill in the distance. He peered through the living room window. The lights were getting closer.

  Good. She made it back. That was damned fast.

  “Please, man,” one of the guys said. “Just... what’s the question? You lookin’ for Magnus? Is that it?”

  “Where can I find Magnus? Where can I find him tonight? Where can I find him right now?”

  The headlights turned into the driveway. Ragus watched the shifting shadows cast by the headlight beams. Something wasn’t right. He glanced out the window again. A second car followed the first and pulled into the driveway behind it.

  “Why, I believe that’s him right there,” one of the guys said.

  Ragus stepped over to the open door and looked outside. Both of the Carson men’s bodies were illuminated in the first set of headlights.

  The car in front lit up with flashing blue lights from the top of the cab. Everything outside was bathed in blue from the flashing strobes.

  A third car pulled into the driveway.

  “Looks like you’re in a fucking mess, huh?” the other guy on the floor said.

  Ragus slammed the butt of the rifle stock into his face. The man went limp. Ragus went through the narrow door into the kitchen. The back door was closed. He stepped over to it and opened it. He started to step outside but stopped short.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  He knew that the trailer was parked on the side of a hill, but he didn’t expect this.

  There were no steps to greet him outside the back door. No porch. No soft grass. The back door opened to a sheer drop into the darkness below.

  T HIRTY-FOUR

  Selena

  IT TOOK FAR longer to get the girls to safety than I’d planned. I was going to drop them off at a nearby truck stop with instructions for the overnight clerk to dial 911 for help. That they didn’t want to go back to their homes or get assistance from local authorities left me with few options.

  I understood their situation. The people that sold them into human slavery were likely the guardians that should have been most concerned for their well-being. Some people are just evil. I don’t blame their addictions. An addiction is no excuse. They’re just evil.

  The authorities clearly had a stake in things too.

  I deliberated as I drove through the night. I knew the right thing to do, I just had to take my chances. I wouldn’t get back to Ragus until late, but he could find his way back to the car. I’d meet him there. He’d worry, but I couldn’t leave these girls in danger.

  I pointed the car toward Jennifer and JP’s place, old friends. They lived a few miles up the highway by the river. I drove as fast as I could without speeding enough to be noticed.

  I took the turn onto a narrow road that ran alongside the railroad tracks and the river. Jennifer and JP’s trailer sat in a wooded area along the riverbank.

  There were no lights on inside when I pulled up. A large dog tied up in the back started barking and pulled at its chain as I got out of the car. Just doing his job.

  A light came on and JP opened the door to the trailer. He stood there in his boxers on the porch when I walked up.

  JP hadn’t changed much. His long blonde hair might have been a little longer. His full beard looked just as wild as ever. I recognized all the tattoos on his thick muscled arms.

  “Holy shit,” he said. “What are you doing here, little bit?”

  “No time to explain, JP. I have a girl in the car that needs help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “Overdose.”

  “Okay. Let’s get her inside.”

  JP got the unconscious girl out of the car and carried her in the house.

  I helped the other two girls get inside.

  “Jennifer,” JP called toward the back bedroom. “You’d better get in here, honey.”

  A minute later my lifelong friend came into the room. She was dressed in a long nightgown, her hair down. I was surprised to see that Jennifer was very pregnant. She had to be in the last stages and near delivery. Her large belly extended uncomfortably in front of her. Wow, that thing’s got to come out. Somehow.

  Seeing her condition reminded the maternal part of me that a surgeon had tied my stuff up in double knots after I’d taken the beating from Kurt Dello. Motherhood wasn’t in the cards for me. I pushed that flash of jealously aside and determined to be happy for Jennifer.

  It was so good to see her.

  “Jeez,” she said when she saw me. “Selena, is that you? How the hell did you get out of prison?”

  “I can’t tell you that. And I hope you don’t tell anyone I’ve been here. I don’t want to get you in trouble, but these three girls here are in a bad situation. I hope you can help.”

  I explained without going into detail about how they came to be in my care.

  JP tended to the overdose victim and didn’t seem too concerned. “I’ve seen a lot worse. I’ll keep an eye on her, but she should sleep it off. Her pulse is stronger than what you described, so she may be coming through it.”

  “I think she threw up in the car,” I said.

  “Good,” JP said. “I’ll get some light bread and cream.”

  “I see you guys are starting a family,” I said.

  “Due in two weeks.” Jennifer smiled the most beautiful smile. Her tired, puffy face lit up like magic.

  “That’s nice. I, uh, I’m sorry for bringing this to you tonight I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “We’ll take it from here,” JP said. “No sweat.”

  “Selena, are you... supposed to be out? Of prison, I mean,” Jennifer said.

  I shook my head.

  She nodded. “Can I make you a sandwich or something?”

  That was so unexpected, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?” I shook my head.

  “You’d better get. We’ll figure this thing out,” JP said. “Keep kicking ass.”

  Jennifer gave me a gentle hug. I felt something stirring in her belly and looked down.

  “Go ahead,” she said. She smiled that beautiful smile again.

  I put my hand to her belly. I felt a strong kick from inside. I grinned. I looked at her. She was glowing in spite of her condition. “Boy or girl?”

  “Girl,” she said.

  “You’ll be a great mom.”

  “Thanks.”

  I went out and got in dad’s car. I started the engine. I sat there a few seconds and wiped the tears from my eyes, turned the car around in the yard and drove off.

  I drove along the river road. The night was quiet. There was no traffic.
I remembered the fun that Jennifer, JP, and I had the previous year. The times on the riverbank drinking and getting high, the evenings at the bluegrass festival. Those were some good times.

  Jennifer had a good life, and now she was going to be a mother and have a husband.

  I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t jealous. I knew my life being fucked up was my own fault.

  When I turned back onto the main highway, I turned my thoughts to more practical matters. I hoped Ragus had gotten some information about Magnus’s whereabouts. All the events that led up to me breaking out of prison were done so I could stop him. After that, I didn’t really care what happened to me. As far as I was concerned, this was the end game.

  I drove the miles of highway back to my father’s house. It began to hit me that he was dead. Both he and my uncle were dead.

  I felt okay with it.

  I took the turn and drove back up the holler. I didn’t think anyone was watching the place. Ragus and I could just take my dad’s car back rather than hiking through the woods. We could get his car then plan how to deal with Magnus.

  The drive up the narrow holler road felt like an eternity. The turn came into view and I put the headlights on high beam. I turned down the driveway to the trailer.

  Something was wrong.

  All the cars were missing except my uncle’s pickup. I was in my dad’s car, so that one made sense. But the others—I didn’t get it.

  I felt naked without some type of weapon.

  I parked and got out.

  The two bodies still lay in the yard. The front door stood open.

  “Ragus?” I said.

  No answer.

  I was afraid to go inside, but I had to. I went up the steps and peered through the door. A dead man sitting in the recliner. It wasn’t Ragus.

  I went inside.

  “Ragus?” I said again.

  My bow lay on the floor. I picked it up and went into the kitchen. No one there. The faucet was dripping. The back door was open. Liquor bottles and cigarette packs lined the table.

  I went back into the living room and down the hallway. The bedrooms and the bathroom were empty. I opened the closet in my father’s bedroom. He kept my grandfather’s guns inside.

  I saw a couple of deer rifles. Behind them was an old Harrington and Richardson single-shot 16 gauge. I grabbed it. The barrel was dusty and had a few spots of rust. I opened the breach. This one was simple enough. It worked a lot like my double barrels had, only this gun had a hammer that you had to cock and only the one barrel. I found a box of Winchester XX number 6 shot in the closet. I loaded the shotgun and put a few extra shells in my pockets.

  I walked back down the hall. A kerosene heater stood in the living room. It wasn’t lit. I pushed at it with my foot. The tank on the bottom was heavy with fuel. I loosened the cap and turned the heater over, let the fuel spill out. The carpet soaked it up. The smell of the kerosene filled the room.

  I went outside and put my bow, arrows, and the shotgun in the passenger’ seat.

  I got in and drove the car up to the end of the road at the forest’s edge. I got as close to the tree line as I could and turned the headlights on high beam. If Ragus was nearby, he’d see me.

  I got out of the car and called his name into the trees.

  No answer.

  “Shit,” I said. Ragus was right. Splitting up had been a mistake.

  All I could do was get back in dad’s car and drive over to where we left the other. That was our rallying point, and would be the place he’d go to if he could get there.

  “Shit.”

  I got back in the car. On my way back down the road, I stopped at my father’s trailer. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes off the kitchen table. I grabbed a porno mag off the coffee table on the way out. I lit the pages with my lighter and tossed it inside. It took a few seconds, but the kerosene-soaked carpet caught flame.

  I could see the orange glow in the rearview mirror as I drove down the dark hillside.

  T HIRTY-FIVE

  Ragus

  RAGUS AWOKE. His head throbbed. The pain was in his temples and the back of his neck. He felt nauseous. A strong chemical smell deep in his sinuses. His mouth tasted like shit, and his jaw ached. He couldn’t feel his hands. His ass felt like it was on fire.

  Flashes of memory from the night before. The deputy handcuffed him, then placed a strong-smelling cloth over Ragus’s nose and mouth until he lost consciousness.

  He had no memory of anything that came after.

  He felt the sensation of warm water rising in the back of his throat. He knew what was coming. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t get his hands to cooperate. He lay on his side as the waves of nausea hit him full force. He retched violently. He opened his eyes and found he was lying on dirt. He couldn’t push himself up, so he vomited on the ground in front of his face. He remained as still as he could and let it come.

  Once his stomach was empty, he finished with a series of dry heaves. Eventually the convulsive spasms eased. He scooted himself back from the vomit, looked down and saw that he was naked. His hands were cuffed in front of him.

  He shifted his arms into a different position by using the muscles that still had circulation. After a few minutes he felt the tingling pain in his fingers. He opened and closed his hands to encourage the blood flow. Finally he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

  His ass hurt mightily. The room spun around him. He retched again. He closed his eyes to still the spinning sensation as much as he could.

  Where the fuck am I?

  He opened his eyes and looked around—he was in a large, circular pit dug into the ground. By the slivers of light that pierced through the blackened walls, he guessed he was in some sort of barn. A series of beams were high over his head and above those a tin roof.

  Something put pressure on his collar bones. He reached his cuffed hands up to his neck and felt a thick, leather collar. There were hard packets of something on either side of the collar. He felt a locking mechanism on the back. A steel cable was fastened to a metal loop on the back of the collar. He turned his head and saw that the other end of the cable was fastened to an electric pulley system high up on a column behind him.

  Not good.

  He didn’t know how the county jails treated people in lock-up around here, but he thought it a safe bet that he wasn’t in jail.

  He took stock of his physical condition. The vomiting, the skull-splitting headache, and the chemical smell on his face all told him he’d been drugged. The handcuffs told him that a cop was involved. His crude surroundings told him he wasn’t in jail. That he was naked, the dull pain in his jaw, the shitty taste in his mouth, and the burning in his ass all told him he’d been raped while unconscious—probably repeatedly.

  That he was still alive told him that his captors were not through making him suffer.

  He chuckled. Whoever these assholes were, they had no idea who they’d fucked with.

  Ragus crossed his legs. Placed his hands in his lap. Closed his eyes and took deep, cleansing breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth. His head throbbed with each intake of air, but eased with each exhale. The pain diminished after several minutes.

  He wanted a line of coke to get him back to full working order, but he’d have to escape before he could get that. So be it.

  He stood without using his hands.

  He walked around the circle to the extent the cable allowed. He didn’t mind being naked or barefoot. It didn’t bother him that his hands were cuffed in front of him. The only limitation he felt was the cable. To get away, he’d have to free himself from it.

  With his hands, he examined the lock mechanism on the collar as best he could. The cuffs restricted him from being able to do much. He couldn’t figure out how the lock on the collar worked. The leather of the collar was too thick to break. The metal loop and the cable itself were too strong. He considered climbing the post to inspect the electrical pulley system,
but he didn’t think he was strong enough yet to climb that high on the pole.

  He saw a paper sign tacked to the post. He approached it and studied it carefully. A laminated printout on yellow paper. No words on it, just a series of hand-drawn characters. It read like a comic strip. In one panel was a picture of a cartoon man standing next to the post. The only features on the cartoon man were his naked genitals and the collar around his neck. The next panel zoomed in and showed a close up of the cartoon man trying to remove the collar from his neck. The next panel was a picture of an explosion. The final panel—the comic strip punch line—was a picture of the cartoon man’s head separate from his body, x’s in the cartoon man’s eyes.

  Real cute.

  Ragus stood with his feet apart. He raised his legs high, one knee at a time to loosen them up. He did a few squats—not too many, he didn’t want to tire himself or make his legs sore. He practiced a few kicks. His ass hurt, but he ignored it. If he was to get out of this mess, he’d have to use his legs and feet.

  Once his legs were warmed up, he paced the floor to keep his blood circulating.

  The barn, the pit, the collar and cable, everything he saw told him this was an elaborate set up. This wasn’t something that was slapped together just for Ragus. No. This was a way of life for someone.

  Ragus knew they’d be coming for him. He would be ready.

  T HIRTY-SIX

  Selena

  I WAS EXHAUSTED by the time I got back to Ragus’s car. I parked dad’s car several feet away. I found the keys on the tree branch overhead where Ragus hid them. I put my bow and the shotgun in back, and I got in the driver’s seat.

  I turned the headlights on and flicked them over to high-beam. I looked out at kudzu town in the dark.

  No sign of Ragus.

  I took a few sips of whiskey. The booze hit me hard and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I powered down the window a few inches so I could hear Ragus when he approached. I reclined the seat and fell asleep.

  When I awoke, the sky was turning gray in the east. I repositioned the seat and sat up. I got out and peed on the ground, did a few stretches to get the blood flowing. I listened into the woods but heard nothing stirring. I called out for Ragus a couple of times, but there was no response.