by Mark Tufo
“Looks like somebody blocked the road on purpose,” Robert said.
Kid kept saying things like that, Max was going to call him Captain Obvious. “That goddamned Delphus Fraley. I can’t wait to twist his overall straps around his neck until he begs for mercy.”
“You told me never take business personally.”
Max lifted one of his dirt-caked shoes. “Screw with my Guccis, it gets personal.”
“If Mr. Fraley didn’t want you on his property, why wouldn’t he just seek a cease-and-desist order or post ‘No trespassing’ signs?”
“A man like Delphus Fraley likes to believe he’s self-reliant. He falls back on foolish principles of tradition, not realizing the world passed him by long ago. In some ways, he’s a noble savage. But you can see such thinking is nothing more than arrogance, right?”
“I can almost admire him,” Robert said. “Too many people count on the system to bail them out.”
Max sighed. “A man’s arrogance can be used against him. Self-confidence is something entirely differently. A self-confident man works within the system because he’s comfortable with his role in life, with his gifts, and with his ability to manipulate—er, I mean, cooperate with—his fellow men.”
Max hoped he remembered all this. It would be great material for his book, although he wasn’t quite sure he’d nailed down a clear point. Anyway, he’d just babble it all into a tape recorder and hire some out-of-work journalist to make it coherent.
Robert squinted at the sun that was already brushing the golden canopy, red and gray bands of clouds wavering on the horizon. “We’d better get walking or we won’t get out of here by sundown.”
“Smartest thing you said all day,” Max said. “I knew you had some leadership skills just waiting to get loose.”
Max put a hand on Robert’s shoulder and gave him a gentle shove down the logging road. “Now, tell me about this girlfriend of yours.”
- - -
Looking at a naked goddess with Benny, Pedro and Gregory standing and kneeling around him was kind of weird.
Stroke mags were meant to be enjoyed alone. But here in a camp full of adolescent boys, they were currency. Power. Status symbols.
Sven kept the magazine over his lap and sat forward a little on the bed. While the centerfold would have aroused him at any other time—heck, even a stiff breeze might do the job, he’d been in detention for so long—he couldn’t get into it with these little twerps hanging all over him. Still, he had to play it up big.
The bright center of the flashlight beam lit the centerfold like the North Star. The boys crowded around, panting like a pack of wolves.
“Bet that would snap your finger right off,” Sven said. He was sixteen, two years older than Gregory, who was a year or so older than Benny and Pedro.
“Or something else,” Gregory said.
“Do they really get that big?” Pedro asked.
“You bet your little red chili pepper,” Sven said, all cool like he’d been there before. Sven had been close, all bra straps and belt loops, but he’d never been granted access anywhere lower. For all their dressing with skin flashing everywhere, most girls were total prudes. They all thought they were going to marry into Fortune 500 companies and sail around in yachts.
He’d hoped there would be some horny country women out here, but there were, what, two women on the place? One was a prude counselor dreaming of a yacht and the other a forty-year-old who didn’t wear deodorant and probably didn’t trim, either.
“Man,” Benny said in a high-pitched squeak, “I wish there were some girls out here.”
Gregory leaned close to Sven, like he wanted some of the charisma of experience to rub off. “There’s Jenny, you doofus. Bet she’s getting tag-teamed every night.”
“Not by this bunch of losers,” Sven said.
“I could do that señorita in a hot second,” Pedro said.
Sven rolled up the magazine and smacked Pedro on the head. The younger boy recoiled, brown eyes full of hurt, but he fought it off. He was thirteen, but sometimes he acted like a real baby. Though freckle-faced Benny was the biggest wimp of them all.
Sven set the magazine beside him and handed the flashlight to Gregory. “And a second’s about as long as you would last, Taco-Breath,” Sven said to Pedro. “But that stuff’s spoken for.”
“You nailing it?” Gregory asked in a worshipful tone.
Sven smiled and laid back on the bed, head on the pillow, hands clasped behind his head like he had all the time in the world and most of its money. “Gentlemen never tell,” Sven said.
“What about Mrs. Fraley?” Benny asked.
Gregory picked up the magazine and flipped through it. “She’s old enough to be your momma. Probably as dried up as Booger Hargrave’s biscuits.”
The small bunkhouse featured two sets of bunk beds, bureaus, and a couple of storage trunks. The boys began to disperse to their places for the night, not that there was far to go, and if Sven snapped his fingers, they’d come running. Only perk of being in this damned Hitler Youth camp—lots of bootlickers to boss around.
“A cook named ‘Booger,’” Pedro said. “Who’d ever believe it?”
“You guys eat that garbage he served up for breakfast? Tasted like total ass.”
“How do you know what ass tastes like, Benny?” Sven asked.
Gregory laughed. “Probably been hanging out at Old Man Fraley’s outhouse. He drop those overalls and you get a big stiffy, don’t you?”
Benny stood, hands balled into fists. His eyes watered. “You can lick my toes after I kick your ass, then maybeyou’ll know what ass tastes like.”
“Oooh, I’m real scared, the baby wants to fight. Maybe you need a taste of my knuckles.”
Sven smiled but he cut Benny off before the kid started some stupid little-boy tantrum. A fight happens and who gets blamed?You’re the oldest. You should know better. You’re supposed to be an “influence.”
To hell with that noise. He needed to come out of this camp with a clean record, so he could get back on the street and hook up with his home boys. Some of the guys had started dealing meth, and there was some real money in it. But until he got out of here, he had to stick to the small stuff.
And he could play to the home team while he was here, solidify his position as the go-to guy.
“Easy does it, boys,” he said. “I got something tastesmucho better.”
Like a magician conjuring a rabbit, he slipped a joint from beneath his pillow.
Gregory stepped back. “Dude, I’m on probation.”
“Me, too,” Pedro said.
Benny wiped his eyes. “Pussies. Give me that.”
He snatched the joint and Sven chuckled. Occasionally, this little Meat Camp sideshow could be better than TV. “Got a match?”
Shaking heads all around. No wonder they all ended up here—no one was prepared for anything. That included him, not that he’d admit as much. He had smuggled in the weed, after all, thanks to his buddy Jose sneaking through the woods. A real American hero there.
“Benny can go to the counselor’s hut and ask Mark,” Gregory said.
“Jeez, you moron,” Sven said. “You gonna tell him we’re starting a campfire so we can roast marshmallows?”
“Sure. They’re all about these bonding experiences.” Gregory grinned like he was some kind of genius. Meanwhile, Gregory was the type of idiot who would walk up to a cop, stolen TV in hand, and ask for directions to the nearest pawn shop.
“All right, then,” Sven said. “Go for it. But it’s your ass if we get busted.”
“So you’re volunteering me?” Benny stood, a bit unsure.
Sven gave him a “You’re the man” look. “You’re the only one of these piss-ants with the stones to pull it off.”
Benny smirked and threw his shoulders back a little bit. “Can I take the flashlight?”
Sven laughed first and the others followed.
“It’s still daylight, señor,” Pedro
said.
“But the woods are way creepy, man,” Benny said. “It’s going to be dark soon.”
Sven still laughed but Benny had a point. Being out in the woods was a bit different from walking city streets. Sure, you could get mugged on the street, or shot, or both, but out here, God only knew what could happen. Could be wolves and bears, maybe some crazy inbred cannibal cult or something. For all anybody knew, could be witches in a cave somewhere. Not that he’d share that little theory with this crew. Little shitters would probably laugh and then he’d have to hurt one of them.
Sven had never realized what a blessing a streetlight could be. On the streets, you stayed away from them, because they were like spotlights for cops, who were otherwise smart enough to stay out of the dark where the bad juju went down. But out here, a streetlight or two would have been most welcome. So he understood Benny’s fear, although he’d never in a million years admit it.
Sven grabbed the flashlight and tossed it to Benny, who managed to catch it without looking like a total uncoordinated spazz. “You better light up our lives, dude. And if it’s ‘Mission Accomplished,’ the magazine is yours.”
“Yuck,” Gregory said. “Then the pages will get all stuck together.”
Benny shook the flashlight at him. “I’m going to be playing piano with your teeth if you don’t shut the hell up.”
“Chill,” Sven said, holding out the joint. “Peace offering.”
Benny stepped forward and took it, hardly believing this obvious sign of trust and acceptance. The other boys practically pouted in jealousy. Sven bit back a smile.
Nice play.
“That doesn’t mean it’s yours, though. We still share it. Cool?”
Benny nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
When the door closed behind Benny, Sven leaned back on his pillow again. If the brat got busted, Sven would deny all knowledge of the pot. Plus he’d secured his benevolent power, and he still would be getting a buzz out of the deal.
Nice play indeed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amanda found the clearing where the trees opened up and the valley stretched before them. She found it without a misstep or wrong turn, as though she’d been here before.
If he noticed, Kyle made no sign.
Idiot.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Amanda said.
“Yeah,” Kyle said without interest. “So where’s this guy?”
He stopped behind her, set his hands on her hips. His fingertips turned white as he squeezed. She turned around and kissed him deeply, but not before throwing a glance across his shoulder at Jose.
He went to the edge of the clearing. That camp for delinquents was around here somewhere, maybe even a few hundred more yards away. Sven told him weed was hard to score at the camp, and even a few joints would bring big money from some of the snot-nosers there. Sven wanted to set up a regular supply chain, with Jose serving as mule. Traversing the mountain for the third time now, Jose figured that term was pretty appropriate.
But Sven was already in the system, pulling a light probation. If Jose got busted dealing, he wouldn’t end up here. He was too old. He’d go to jail, and out here in Hillbilly Heaven, that probably meant a whole prison full of men trying to make him squeal like a pig.
Better to go to a city prison. At least there he could have some cred, join a posse.
But he couldn’t hold the city in his mind. It really was beautiful out here. The trees were so thick and the mountains rose all around like something from that movie with the hobbits and those fuggly-assed monsters, or whatever they were.
Up high on one of those cresting peaks, two guys stood looking out over the edge. It was tough to tell from this distance, but they were either wearing suits or black cloaks. That might not even be surprising. Sure, out here in the middle of the Appalachian woods there weren’t any drive-bys or muggings, but the people who called places like this home were often screwed in the head in an entirely different way.
Jose had heard stories of Satanic worshippers. They kidnapped virgins and performed blood sacrifices in the woods, all of them gathered around the bound and gagged girl, her naked, and the worshippers clothed in black robes with hoods. They would slice the girl’s neck and summon forth Satan, chanting while high on toadstools and crazy herbs.
Maybe that was all bullshit but regardless, Jose wanted this done before dark, and the sun was sinking fast. He wouldn’t come up here at night, no matter what he had to gain.
And this morning, he had an awful lot to gain.
Sunlight blinked off a pair of binoculars one of the two guys was holding. He was looking out past the clearing. Out toward the camp. A place called Meat Camp. Maybe it had once been a slaughtering ground. Maybe there really were Satanists around here.
Either way, it didn’t look like the two men could have spied the group. The forest canopy was thick and golden with autumn, alive with insects, the fresh breeze knocking off some of the humidity.
“I don’t know if I can just yet,” Kyle said behind him. “Maybe after we smoke some.”
“But I want you, baby,” Amanda said. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”
Jose’s heart picked up its pace and heat flushed through him. His hands, however, felt cold, his knuckles stiff, like they were bound in ice.
He heard Kyle’s zipper descending.
“See?” she said. “You’re on the way.”
“Jose is right there.”
“Go for it, man,” Jose said as calmly and indifferently as he could. “She wants it.”
“Ow,” Kyle said.
“Sorry,” Amanda said.
Kyle was such an idiot. He must have gotten caught in his zipper.
Jose squatted, hands going to the ground again. It didn’t take long to find something that would work. In the city, you mostly worried about guns, but out here in the woods, weapons were all over the place.
They kissed with wet slopping sounds, Amanda throwing in a generous moan just for Kyle’s pleasure. It was phony, not that Kyle cared.
She overdid it to piss Jose off, too, of course.
“That’s it, baby,” Kyle whispered. “You’re the best.”
What a charmer.
Jose’s hand clenched the rock and he felt very clearly that his arm was a part of his body but under something else’s control. The rock weighed his arm down, far heavier than it looked, and its jagged edges pushed against his fingertips as if to pierce them.
“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle was murmuring, lost in his own pleasure and oblivious to the entire world. He’d forgotten Jose was there, and probably had forgotten Amanda, too.
Jose moved quickly, letting his arm do it all by itself.
The first thwack might have been enough, but Jose’s arm kept swinging back and down, again and again, until blood splashed across his face and soaked the ground in red puddles.
“Think you might have overdone it,” Amanda said.
“You did, too.”
Then she kissed him, long and deeply, right there beside the body of someone who had thought Jose was a friend.
The crappy Camaro was really a disguise. Kyle was the type of asshole who slummed around because it gave him a sick thrill. Jose hadn’t realized that at first. It had taken Amanda to point it out to him. Jose just thought Kyle was another unlucky kid stuck living in the sewerhole tenements. He dressed better than most of the people, but that was because he used to have a good life and then, like Jose’s life, things had turned to shit.
All Kyle had ever said about it was that his father had been some businessman and been screwed out of his position and all his stock options and then he’d driven his Mercedes off a bridge into a river.
“You know he’s playing, right?” Amanda asked Jose one night not long after she’d started dating Kyle.
“What do you mean?”
“You think I’m banging him just because it gets you off?”
He blushed at that but there was no point denyin
g it. He liked watching her mess around with other guys, even as it also pissed him off. All he wanted to do was grab her and show her how much more of a man he was than the other guys. Maybe that meant he was psycho, but what difference was it, really? She liked it, he liked it, and no one got hurt.
Until now, that was.
“He’s loaded,” she said that night. “That Camaro is like his cover-up. All that about his businessman father losing his money and taking a final dip, that’s all made up. Well, not all of it. His old man is rich, all right, but he never lost it and he never crashed his car.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“What? That he’s rich?”
“He brought me to his house, a goddamned mansion behind an iron gate with guards and landscapers and a little black jockey holding a lantern. A butler opened the door. He really drives a Beemer when he’s not slumming.”
“Bullshit.”
“Met his father. Asshole drives a Bentley.”
“Then what is he doing hanging with us?”
She shrugged. “Cheap thrills. Why do any of us pretend to be something we’re not?”
“So he’s your Prince Charming?”
“I’ll be his princess or I’ll be his whore. I don’t care. Pays the same either way. But maybe it can pay better”
He had never seen that look in her eyes before. It was cold and dark and harbored a secret malevolence, like a slick cave at midnight just before all the bats flew out.
“What are you talking about?”
She thought for a moment, as if deciding whether or not she could really trust him. Or maybe deciding if he was really a psycho after all. Maybe all the games had been leading to this one big spin of the roulette wheel. “He’s got it made either way. But people like you and me, we got to make our luck.”
“You mean, you and me? Like, us?”
She kissed him, and then slid her tongue lightly across his cheek until her lips were at his ear. “Unless you’re too chicken to play for keeps,” she whispered.
He thought of Momma on disability, his own future as a high-school dropout, and all the jobs that assholes like Kyle’s dad had shipped to China. Kyle had it all. Was it so wrong to want a little piece of it?