by B. B. Hamel
Back in the day, it had been my parents’ favorite bar. They came here during game weekends, whenever there was a football game on or some shit. They drank until they couldn’t drink anymore, and my dad would drive them home blind drunk. That was probably where Ray had picked up that bright idea.
Tonight’s crowd wasn’t as boisterous as it could normally get. They were subdued, drinking quietly or talking. I would have preferred some loud yelling or something, just to keep attention off me, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t recognize anyone and nobody recognized me, as far as I could tell.
Ten minutes after sitting down, a whisky in my hand, I caught sight of him slinking into the room like a rat. Toad looked nervous and out of place as he finally spotted me and came over to my table.
“Hey, Travis,” he said.
“Sit,” I ordered.
He sat. “Everything good?”
“All good. I don’t have much time though. I need to get home. Did you bring it?”
“Parked around back,” he said.
“Everything I asked for?”
“Everything and more.” He frowned. “I’ve heard some rumors about you lately, though.”
“Forget about that.”
“What are you involved in, man? Should I be worried here?”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t know. Shit about the Dixie Mafia and about the Caldwells? I’m worried.”
I grinned at him. “You’re fine, Toad. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Fine.”
He stood up and I followed. We headed out the front door and then walked around back. I couldn’t wait to see it, and I felt like a little kid again. My heart was beating fast and I was grinning to myself.
I’d always wanted one of these. Even back when I was younger, I wanted to get inside one just to feel the power it held. It was like a mythical beast to me.
We got behind the bar and there it was, parked in the lot like a great white whale.
“Well?” Toad asked. “This what you meant?”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Toad shook his head, looking nervous. “What?”
“It’s fucking perfect, Toad.”
The big tractor-trailer truck was exactly what we needed. The eighteen-wheeler was the sort of truck people shipped stuff across the country in, and a lot of guys in Knoxville drove one. There was a strong tradition of truckers in the town, and even my father had driven one for a couple years in his younger days.
“How’d you get it?” I asked him.
“Don’t worry about it. I just need it back in two weeks.”
“I can handle that.”
He handed me the keys. “There you go. She’s all yours.”
I handed Toad a little envelope. He tried to refuse, but he took it once I insisted.
“Good luck with whatever you’re planning,” he said, and then walked away.
Poor Toad. He was worried that by helping me out, he was going to get himself killed. I doubted that, but he understood this game. He knew how it could be. Every deal was potentially dangerous when you worked with dangerous and violent men. Toad was used to the risk, and I wasn’t going to treat him like a fucking kid about it.
I walked around the truck once, inspecting the tires and wheels. It looked good, or at least good enough. The container was empty, though it smelled like dog food. Finally, I got up front and started the engine.
Power, so much power. I pulled it out of the lot slowly, getting a feel for the way she moved. It was like a giant slug crawling along, and that was how I liked it, slow and steady and strong.
I took the long way home. I hit the streets, opening her up, letting her speed a bit. I got a feel for the handling, the acceleration. By the time I was finished playing around, it was well past one in the morning.
It took me another twenty minutes to find a spot where I could park it. Once I did, I walked back toward the apartment.
And as I approached, I slowly stopped in my tracks. Something was missing, but I was having a hard time figuring it out.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
My fucking car was missing.
This wasn’t a bad neighborhood. Cars didn’t just get stolen around here. It simply didn’t happen.
Someone who knew me took my car. Someone with access to the keys.
My stomach sank as I slowly realized exactly what had happened. I didn’t waste a single second. I just turned and ran back toward the truck, terrified of the consequences.
21
Hartley
I was in bed when I heard Travis talking on the phone. I couldn’t make out the words; it just came through like a dull murmur. Not too long after he made a bunch of calls, I heard the door open and then shut behind him.
It was around eleven at night, and I wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon.
I just kept thinking about the peach farm and my parents. I kept remembering the way the trees smelled when they were in bloom, the way a fresh peach tasted straight from the tree, my mother’s laughter, my father’s hard work. I knew my brothers were helping out and taking care of things, but I couldn’t stop myself from fearing the worst.
Culver’s words kept coming back into my mind. The man didn’t seem like the type to mince words and make things up. If he said he was going to kill my family if we didn’t come through, I believed him.
Worse, I couldn’t stop picturing what he’d already done to them. The last time I spoke with my mom, she had seemed fine, but so much could have changed since then.
I sat up and grabbed my phone. It was too late to call, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I dialed and let it ring. It rang and rang, and finally the answering machine picked up.
Fear jabbed through me. I called again and again, but nobody answered. This was my ultimate nightmare, my worst and deepest horrors brought to life. My parents were never out this late at night. I couldn’t imagine a reason why the house would be empty at midnight; someone had to hear the phone ringing, and someone should be answering.
Unless Culver already had them and was going to use them against me.
My heart was hammering in my chest. I kept seeing that bastard’s face, his intense expression, his creepy smile. I knew what he wanted from me, knew he had said everything just to get a rise out of me, but I couldn’t help it. The whole reason I was doing any of this was to keep my family safe, and if Culver went after them, I’d be completely destroyed.
Without thinking, I got out of bed and got dressed. I tossed a few things in a bag, just enough for one short overnight trip, and then walked into the main room.
Travis was still gone. I had no clue where he went, but the car keys were still on the kitchen table.
I grabbed them. I didn’t think; I just moved. I went downstairs, left the apartment, found his car, and got in.
I started the engine.
I knew this was stupid.
I pulled out of the spot.
Ten minutes later, I was on the highway moving west, heading toward my farm. As far as I was concerned, this was the stupidest thing I’d ever done, but also the most important. I couldn’t keep relying on Travis to do everything, and frankly he didn’t seem all that worried about my family. His only goal was to get us out of our problems, and he never even mentioned my farm.
I knew what he’d say if he knew I was doing this. I was being rash, stupid, I had no plan, I was running headlong into danger, any number of complaints. And all of that was true.
But I was done sitting idly by. As I drove, I knew that I was making a stupid decision, but it was the right one for me. I couldn’t keep getting dragged along behind Travis as he made his complicated moves in this insane game of chess. I needed to check on my parents.
I knew the mafia didn’t want me leaving Knoxville. That was part of the deal from the very start, that I didn’t try to run. I had to hope that they couldn’t watch me all day and night. They might not even notice I
was gone if I only made a quick stop to check on my parents. If my family was fine, I could rest up for a couple hours and then turn right around and head on home.
Yes, this was a stupid decision. Yes, I was breaking the mafia’s rule and potentially ruining all the hard work Travis had put in. But despite all of that, I had to do this. I couldn’t sit around and sleep knowing that my family could be in danger.
As the miles passed, I began to believe in myself.
The trip out to Dade County, where my family farm was situated, took about three hours. That was three hours of mindless driving with little to no sleep, three hours of torment. I tried to keep myself distracted with the radio, but it was impossible.
I just kept imagining the worst. I kept seeing Culver sitting in our kitchen, that creepy smile plastered on his face as he killed my parents one after the other. He’d force my brothers to watch, of course, since he was a sadistic piece of shit. When he was done with my parents, he’d take my brothers out back and finish them off, too.
Or maybe he’d force my brothers to kill my parents. Or maybe he’d string them all up in the barn and leave them there to die of thirst. Or any other number of terrible things I could think of.
Time passed. Miles passed. I kept moving west and a bit north, winding my way through the hills.
Slowly, things began to look familiar. The few billboards around the area hadn’t been changed in twenty years, and I knew them like the back of my hand. The town names, the exit numbers, everything felt like home. Even the trees seemed more familiar.
Until finally, just as the sun began to peek slightly over the horizon, the beginning pink of sunrise edging into the night, I saw the exit for Dade County.
I knew I wasn’t far. I turned off the highway and began to wind my way through the back roads. Dade had a small town center, much smaller than Knoxville. I passed through that and headed into real farm country, where the houses were situated miles apart and livestock was more plentiful than people. I saw Old Bill’s barn over a hill and knew that I was close, so damn close.
Then I was home. I pulled down the familiar gravel drive, saw the places where I used to play as a kid. Memories came swirling back to me, almost as if I had been gone for years instead of a couple months.
I stopped the car outside the main house. My father’s truck was parked in the usual spot, along with my mother’s SUV and at least one of my brothers’ trucks. I climbed out and practically ran up the old wooden steps, onto the porch, and stopped at the front door.
I took a deep breath. I probably looked crazed, and I didn’t know what to expect inside. I had no clue what I was going to uncover in there.
But I couldn’t back down, not now, not ever. If there was one thing I had learned from Travis, it was that bravery could mean the difference between winning and losing.
I turned the doorknob, my heart a beating mess in my chest.
It was locked.
I let out a breath, feeling silly. I quickly walked to the end of the porch and flipped over the chair cushion on the rocking chair. Tucked into a little pocket my mother had sewn into it was the front door key. I grabbed it, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
No blood. No violence. No horror. Just my house, quiet in the early morning light.
“Mom?” I called out. “Dad?” I walked into the kitchen, but nobody was there. Normally my parents would be getting up around now, but the house was silent.
That seemed ominous. “Mom? Reese? Jonny? Reggie?”
I walked through the downstairs but saw nothing out of ordinary, just evidence of their lives continuing: my brother Reese’s dirty boots, my mother’s sewing kit left out on the couch, magazines piling up next to my father’s chair, used glasses in the sink. I shook my head and headed toward the stairs.
Nothing seemed strange. Nothing seemed off, and yet something was wrong. I slowly walked upstairs, afraid of what I’d see.
Just as I got to the top, the door to my parents’ room opened.
My mother stood there, wearing her pajamas, wrapped in a bathrobe. She looked exhausted. “Hartley?”
I ran to her and threw my arms around her. She seemed surprised, but I couldn’t have been happier to see her.
She was okay. She was fine. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Honey, what are you doing here?”
“I was so worried,” I said. “I called last night, a bunch of times, but you never answered.”
She laughed, confused. “So you drove home?”
“I guess so.” I let her go and looked at her. “Where were you guys?”
She sighed. “Old Billy’s sow gave birth. His sons were on vacation and you know Martha isn’t doing well, so we went over and gave him a hand. Your dad and the boys are still over there, helping him with his morning chores.”
“Oh,” I said, blinking. “That’s really nice.”
“Guess so.” She cocked her head, smiling. “Are you okay?”
In that moment, I realized that I wasn’t. I wasn’t even close to okay.
I had just freaked out and run off to check on my family just because they hadn’t picked up the phone when I’d wanted them to. I didn’t call any cell phones, didn’t even bother to wait. I just ran off at the worst possible moment.
No, I was far from okay. I was a damn mess, deep in something I could barely fathom, in way over my head. And I couldn’t tell my mother any of this, because she’d force me to call the police.
Instead, I had to lie.
“I was homesick,” I said. “I guess I just really wanted to come home.”
“Well then, I’m glad you’re here. Are you hungry?”
I nodded and let her lead me downstairs.
I had to get back. I’d made a mistake, and I was going to pay for it, I was sure. But I had to get back and pay for it in Knoxville. I’d grab a bite to eat, drink a cup of coffee, and then I’d get the heck out of there.
In the end, at least my parents were safe. That was all I really wanted.
I hadn’t realized how much this whole thing was getting to me, but clearly the stress was beginning to have an effect. I’d thought I had it under control, but maybe I was wrong.
I just hoped that it wasn’t too late to fix this.
22
Travis
I never thought I’d find myself driving a truck for any real long distance, but there I was sinking into the thick padded seat, working the clutch, and snaking my way along the Georgia highway.
I knew where Hartley’s family lived. She hadn’t exactly told me, but I’d looked her up as soon as I had some basic information about her. The Baker family farm was in Dade County, about three hours from Knoxville through some shitty fucking backwoods roads.
Which of course were awful for a big rig. But I had no other way of getting there, and I needed to bring her ass home as soon as possible. Hopefully the mafia hadn’t even noticed yet, but that wouldn’t last long. I suspected they knew already, and it was a race to see who could get to her first.
If I got there, I just hoped that I could play this off as a mistake. Otherwise, there’d be violence.
On my way, I shot a message out to Gage and Flynn, letting them know to meet us at the Baker farm instead of at Hartley’s apartment. I wanted them on hand in case something went down.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I had to imagine the worst. I had to imagine that Culver had killed everyone already and I was next on the list. If he had so much as hurt a hair on Hartley’s head, I was going to bring so much fire down on his organization’s head that they’d beg me to let Janey’s people take over their shit. I’d kill every last one of them, though, and I wouldn’t stop until the whole damn Knoxville area was swimming in Dixie Mafia blood.
I had to hope that it didn’t come to that sort of war. I may have been skilled, but I was definitely outnumbered. My ideal outcome was to grab Hartley and get her back to Knoxville without anyone complaining. We’d pretend this whole little mistake had never
happened.
Dade County was a pretty little backwoods place, a lot like Knoxville except with more farms. There weren’t any rich, developed areas out this way, either. These were serious farmers, commercial farmers. These people made their living on the land. I had to admit, I envied that a little bit. Sometimes I missed being so close to the dirt, though I could get dirty in my line of work.
It was slow going as soon as I was off the highway and deep in Dade County proper. I passed through a small little downtown area, cute, but clearly it hadn’t been updated since the fucking fifties. The truck just tore on, grinding down the road.
It felt like it took hours as I went slow as molasses down the small country roads. Eventually, though, I spotted it. The Baker’s farm was on a ten-acre plot with peach trees stretching back into the distance. The only path leading up to the house was a small gravel drive, and that was way too small for my big rig.
I pulled off the side of the road and parked it in a field. I was probably going to leave tire marks in the dirt, but I couldn’t worry about that. I climbed out and walked fast toward the house, cutting across the field.
The place looked quiet. If I were visiting under better circumstances, I might have noticed how beautiful the farm was. Low rows of peach trees stretched out into the distance. Chickens were pecking off to the side of the house. A low barn with a new red paint job sat in the middle of the field. I heard a dog barking not too far away.
As I got closer to the house, I spotted my car. Hartley had parked it next to an old Ford pickup. There were a few other cars, another old truck and an SUV, parked around there. I paused, though, when I saw the last car.
It was a black BMW, parked on the other side of the drive. I stared at it for a second and couldn’t help but wonder how farmers could afford a new BMW, let alone why they would need one.
Instantly, something in my gut told me to be careful. I touched the gun in the holster at my side, reassuring myself with its steel. I moved up toward the house, my eyes on high alert, breathing deeply.