by Greg Barth
“Yes. Scott left out the side. I don’t know where he went after.”
“Oh, and by the way, I’ve never seen anyone better on the pole.”
She smiled again. “I’m going to school, too,” she said. “Going to move to Vegas. Be a bartender.”
“Okay, Scott. I want you to get up and come with me.”
“No.”
“You aren’t out of options yet.”
“If you’re going to kill me, then go on and do it here. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
I stepped up to him, swung the pistol down hard on his left cheek.
“Ah, fuck! You bitch.” He raised a hand.
I brought the gun barrel down hard on the top of his head.
He leaned forward and I hit him again across the cheek. A satisfying crunch as a few of his teeth cracked apart.
He leaned lower, blood pouring from his mouth.
“What I just did to you,” I said. “They did that to me on that prison bus you put me on.”
He whimpered.
“You think you have nothing left to lose. You have no fucking idea just how much you have to lose, but you’re about to find out. Now get on your goddamned feet.”
He whimpered. He sobbed.
He got to his fucking feet.
I led him out the curtain.
“A lot of great bars in Vegas,” I said to Ashley. “Maybe I’ll see you.”
Chris was waiting for me at the side exit. She pushed the door open. No emergency alarm.
We were in the parking lot, the booming music from the club behind us. Raining hard now, and my hair plastered to my face.
“You fucking run, and I’ll shoot you in the ass,” I said to Scott.
We got to the car. I’d parked off to the side in the back corner where it was darkest.
“Open the trunk,” I said to Chris.
She jingled the keys and the trunk lid raised.
Scott looked at me. Blood streamed down his face in the rain. A dark gash under one eye.
“Get his phone,” I said to Chris.
She fished it out of his jeans pocket.
“Throw it away.”
She tossed it into the trees by the parking lot.
Scott looked her way for the first time. “Do you know what the prison sentence is for kidnapping?”
“Look at me, Scott. I’m the one you need to worry about. Kidnapping is the least of your worries.”
He shifted his gaze my way. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Make you tell me where Harding is.”
“I won’t do that. I don’t want you to hurt me. I don’t want to die. But you have to understand, I can’t tell you that. The minute I do, you’ll kill me. You won’t let me do anything to spoil your plans, so you’ll shoot me. I’ll still be dead, and I’ll have Harding’s death on my hands also. There’s nothing you can do to make me tell you anything.”
“Do you know how long I was locked up the first trip?” I said. “Do you? That very first day in the back of that van? Eighteen hours. Eighteen long, grueling, fucking hours. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t go to the bathroom. You know how many total days I went through that? I hope you do, because god knows my mind started slipping and I lost count after two weeks. It felt like it never ended. There were no breaks. No days. Just eternal torment. And right now? I’ve got all the time in the world. But there’s one thing I know for a fact. You will tell me what I want to know. I know it. You know it.”
“Please,” Scott said.
“Now get your ass in that fucking trunk.”
“Please!”
I raised the pistol to strike him.
He got in the trunk. Curled up as best he could. “It’s too small,” he said.
“Of course it is, Scott. It’s supposed to be. Think of it as therapy. It’s fucking good for you.”
I slammed the trunk lid closed.
“See you in eighteen hours, Scott.”
He banged his fist against the trunk.
TWENTY-FOUR
SCOTT THUMPED HIS fist against the trunk. More of an annoyance than anything—a reminder that he was there. I knew he’d grow tired of it in short order, but I turned the music up a bit just in case.
When she had her seatbelt fastened, Chris put her neck brace back on.
“You know you can still get out of this,” I said. I lit up a cigarette, put the car in gear, and put The Platinum Palace behind us.
The street was shiny black with rainwater. The windshield wipers slapped like a metronome keeping time with the music.
“I’m not worried about kidnapping at this point,” she said. “I’ve done far worse. Back at the Barbecue. And besides, I want to be there when we can get back to Ira.”
“So much for pacifism, I guess.”
“I was so naïve. God, I must have sounded stupid to you.”
I stopped at a red light. Scott thumped hard against the side of the car.
“It’s like a second bass drum or something back there,” I said.
I checked the rearview. Nobody was coming after us.
The light changed, and I drove up to the interstate on-ramp and took the westbound lane.
“I’m with you to the end,” Chris said.
“Not very smart.”
“We’ll get through this. Things will be okay again.”
I sighed. It was time to talk about that. “So…you just said how naïve you’d been.”
“Yes.”
“If we get through this and get back to our original plan—Enola and I working with you and River—I’ve got some concerns we need to discuss.”
“Concerns?” she said. “Like what?”
The interstate had almost no traffic at that late hour. Only a few semis scattered along the dark miles.
“River is a small-time dealer, right?” I said.
“Yes. I told you that.”
“And you have no experience.”
“I’m learning.”
“River has never been in a fight.”
“No. But that’s the best part. She doesn’t have to fight. We’ve got a good—”
“And River talks to ghosts.”
Silence.
I cracked my window and flipped the cigarette butt out. Watched the orange sparks on the pavement in my side view mirror.
“I can’t work for River,” I said.
“Well, you’ve never met River.”
I turned to look at Chris. She wasn’t taking this well, but not as hard as I was afraid she might. “But you’ve met me.”
We let the words hang there for about a mile.
“Chris, I think you’re great. One of the best people I’ve ever met. I’ve never had a friend like you. You really are like a little sister. But you’ve gotten to know me over the last couple of days. You know I can’t work for River.”
Resigned, she said, “So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to do what we said. We’re going to cut in with you guys. Enola and I have enough supply to start a major operation. This won’t be small time anymore. This is going to be a big deal.”
“But you just said—”
“I said I can’t work for River. I didn’t say you guys couldn’t work for me.”
“So you want to be the boss?”
“Think about it. I’m bringing in a ton of product. I know how to make connections to get a lot more. If the operation is going to be this large, we run the risk of catching attention.”
“Okay, so it’s a takeover…or a buyout—”
“Partnership,” I said.
“Partnership, then. You want to be the boss. I don’t see how that really matters.”
“It matters.”
“I can’t speak for River, but I imagine she’ll be fine with it.”
“I’m sure the spirits have already told her.”
Chris gave me a look. It wasn’t nice. I thought about apologizing. I shouldn’t talk down about someone she cares for. But, before I could get t
he words out, Scott roared at us from the trunk.
“You think he’s ready to talk yet?” Chris said.
“Oh, no. Nowhere near ready. And we’re not cracking that trunk open until we’re sure he’s cramped up enough to not be able to spring out and run away.”
“We’re just going to drive around?”
“Northwest is probably a good direction for us. We won’t go very far. I’ll find a place where we can stop and rest. We don’t have to be rolling for him to soften up back there. We’ll crack the trunk in the morning.”
Chris fished around in the floor. She came back up with my purse and the Jack Daniels bottle. She fished out another pain pill and washed it down with the whiskey.
“Be careful mixing those with anything distilled,” I said.
She passed me the bottle and I took a long drink.
“We’ve got him,” Chris said. She pointed back to the trunk. “But we can’t let him go free again, can we?”
“Maybe we can.” I said the words, but I was sure we couldn’t.
TWENTY-FIVE
I AWOKE TO the sound of thumping. I opened my eyes and looked out at the gray, predawn landscape. Steam rose from the rolling water to my left. Chris was slumped in the seat to my right still asleep.
We’d pulled off the interstate sometime in the night. We found a narrow road that wound down to the river. I’d parked on a gravel access road along the bank where we were surrounded by trees.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Fuck.
I wiped sleep from my eyes. Grabbed the bottle of whiskey. About an inch left in the bottom.
I got out of the car, walked over near the trees and squatted.
I rinsed my mouth with Jack Daniels, drained most of what was left, and made my way back to the car—to the trunk.
“Hey, you ready to talk to me, Scott?”
“Please,” he said. “Please!”
“Tell me where I can find my man.”
“I’ll tell you. Just open the trunk. Please, for god’s sake.”
“The quicker you tell me, the quicker I let you out.”
“Just please! Open the fucking trunk!”
“If I had begged you, Scott—when you had me on the road, chained up hours on end, day after day, mile after mile—If I’d begged you then, would you have let me out?”
“Aaaagghhh! Goddamnit, please!”
“Is that an address. Like…I don’t know…101 Goddamnit Drive?”
“Seleeeeenaaaaaaa!”
“It sounds pretty when you say it, Scott.”
“I’ve pissed myself. I’ve pissed myself!”
“Oh, don’t I know how that feels. Tell you what, I need a cigarette. Thump again when you’re done with your bedwetting, crybaby session.”
“You FUCKING BITCH!”
“Before I go, Scott, let me explain one thing, okay? And you know me. I’ve given you no reason to doubt anything I say, so here it is. You’re never getting out of this car. Never. Not to eat, not to piss, not to shit. Never. Until you tell me what I want to hear. Got it?”
Sobbing and whimpering. Lots of that.
I walked back up front and got a cigarette. I leaned against the car and smoked. The sun was edging closer to the horizon. The sky was gray in the east.
I’d only gotten through half the cigarette when Scott thumped the trunk again.
I walked back that way.
“Don’t fuck with me,” I said. “I need a number and a street.”
“He doesn’t keep office this time of year. He takes the season off.”
“What? Bullshit. Nobody takes a season off. Teachers maybe. Don’t fucking lie to me.”
“It’s true. Grandfathered in benefits. He’s been at this his whole life. His health has been failing lately. He’s partially retired. He goes to his summer home this time of year.”
“Summer home?”
“His wife has money. He’s done well for himself too. Please just let me out.”
“You mean some cunt, some rich cunt, married this guy?”
“They have grandchildren. Now, for the love of god, please…”
“We’re almost there.”
I heard the sound of tires on gravel. Someone coming our way.
“Just tell me the address.”
He gave me the information I wanted. A specific address, but in an unexpected part of the country.
“Nashville?” I said.
“I can’t swear to it, but I’m sure that’s where he’s at. He’s with his grandchildren.”
The approaching vehicle was closer. I looked down the gravel road along the river, but I couldn’t see them yet.
“Now let me out, Selena.”
“Look, Scott. If I open this trunk now, you’ll bolt and run—”
“I won’t. I swear. I can’t. My legs…”
“No, I know. But even after the worst days, I could still walk, and—”
“You were in a van. A bus. Not like this.” He pounded on the trunk lid.
“Scott, you’ll call him. I know you will. It would be the right thing to do.”
“You promised!”
“I’m going to let you out. But here’s how. I’m going to go up the road a bit. Find a place where you and...” I almost said her name. “My friend can hang out. You’ll be handcuffed—now I have to get a set of those—but you’ll be comfortable.”
“No. No. No! Selena, you promised…”
“I’ll go do what I have to do—which doesn’t involve hurting Harding in any way—and then we’ll let you go. When it’s safe.”
“I won’t call him. I won’t. I’ll take you at your word. Just let me out. Let me ride up in the car with you. Anything.”
“I can’t. Not yet, but I will.”
“My life is in ruins. What can I do? Just let me go back to where I was.”
A full-sized, red pickup truck rounded the bend. Not a monster truck, but the tires were oversized and kept it higher off the ground than a standard pickup.
“Scott, I’ve gotta drive. Hang on, okay?”
I watched the truck, something about its careful approach didn’t look right to me. The truck slowed to a stop about 60 feet away. I eased my way to the car door.
I saw movement along the side of the truck on the passenger’s side. I couldn’t make out what it was…
Snap!
Something whizzed past my ear, tugging at my hair.
The person on the passenger side of the truck had a rifle and was firing at me.
TWENTY-SIX
I SLAMMED THE door, started the engine, shifted, and put the pedal to the floor. The tires spun, spit gravel, and fishtailed until they gained traction.
Chris shifted in her seat. Jerked upright.
“Chris, get down!” I fought the wheel as the car struggled for a grip on the dirt and gravel. I kept the nose pointed forward, between the weeds on either side of the track along the river bank, hoping this path would lead us back to a firmer roadway.
“What is it?” Chris said.
“Stay down.” The rear wheels lost purchase. I eased off the gas and steered the car away from the skid. Caught traction, pushed the throttle. “They’ve found us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
The back glass shattered.
“You okay?”
Chris looked down at her body. “I think so.”
“Stay low. Get my pistol. Be ready to return fire.”
The tires had good grip. I gave the car more gas, checked the rearview. We’d gained distance on the truck.
That didn’t stop the bullets from raining down on us.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
“Chris, stay low, lean over this way. Point the pistol out the back. You’ve gotta return fire.”
“I’ve never shot a gun before.”
“Do this. It’s more accurate. Point the pistol back toward them.”
She leaned over and pointed the pistol out the shattered back window.
“Take your thumb and pull back the hammer. You don’t have to, but it’s more accurate.”
Three clicks as she thumb-cocked the revolver.
“Okay, look down the barrel. Look at the grille of the truck or the driver’s side windshield. Keep your eyes open. Squeeze the trigger.”
The pistol roared.
Three clicks as she cocked again.
“Steady.”
The pistol roared.
Chris was a natural with the pistol. She kept firing. I focused on my driving.
The river road was a narrow, one-lane track that followed parallel to the river. I kept my foot on the gas and hoped we wouldn’t meet anyone head on along the way.
The pistol clicked empty.
“What now?” Chris said.
“Push the slide next to your thumb. Flip the cylinder out. Push out the spent brass.”
She followed my instructions. Empty brass rained down on the seat next to me. “I need more bullets.”
I thought about where I’d put them. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“They’re in the motherfucking trunk!”
Chris looked at me dumbfounded.
“What?” I said.
“The trunk? Really? With him?”
The coke. I’d gotten too high that night. I’d made so many mistakes.
“Okay,” I said. “We pull ahead. Whoever these assholes are, we outrun them. I let him out of the trunk, and we get the bullets. Then we drive on.”
Chris scoffed. “Whoever they are? You know who they are. I saw a Confederate flag on the front of that truck.”
“Doesn’t mean anything. Not around here.”
“Yes it does.”
Thunk!
“Get down, Chris. Get in the floor.”
I was doing 80 on the dirt road, going in the opposite direction of the interstate, farther away from civilization. The terrain around us was wooded, hilly, and, where it was occasionally flat, there were hay fields. The road took a hill ahead. I crested the rise at full throttle. I went weightless as the car left the road. The shocks absorbed the impact as we landed on the downslope.
“It’s the Blakes,” Chris said.
“How could it be?”
“Who else?”
I pushed the gas pedal to the floor. I might hit someone up ahead, but I’d put distance between us and the truck until then.