by S. M. Shade
Today, Anthony texted me to meet him at the Big House. On my last visit, he gave me an old flip phone “in case of emergency” since he believes I don’t have a phone. My real phone remains locked in the console of my car when I’m at True Life.
Multiple cars wait outside the Big House, and I surreptitiously jot down the plate numbers before heading inside. I know I’m beginning to earn his trust and I suspect they plan to test me in some way soon, to see whether I’ll have their back.
“Jeremy!” Anthony calls out as I enter. “Come on in! You want a beer?”
“Always,” I reply, and he laughs, tossing me one.
Shaun isn’t present, but Hudson, who I’ve discovered is their second in command, gives me a nod from the opposite side of the pool table. Kevin and Jose, two devout followers I think of as the goons, enter right after me.
Kevin grins and fidgets like a toddler about to piss himself. “We ready to do this?”
Anthony holds up his finger toward him and pulls me aside. “Listen, we have to pick up some supplies today from a guy I don’t trust much. He’s an outsider. I need someone to act as backup, a little more muscle just for insurance, you understand. In case things go wrong. I’m probably being overly cautious, but it comes with the territory.
“Would you be willing to go with Hudson to pick up the supplies?” A flash of betrayal flashes across Kevin’s face. He reigns it in, but he can’t hide his disappointment.
“Yeah, no problem.”
That’s me, agreeable as hell. Though my guard is up, and alarms are ringing in my head. Is it possible they’ve found out who I really am? I can’t see how, but it’s best to be cautious. More likely, this is that test I expected.
Hudson keeps his eyes on mine as he asks, “Are you familiar with guns? Got any experience with them?”
“I grew up shooting,” I lie. I didn’t grow up with them, but I can sure as hell handle them now.
“I don’t expect you to need it, but better safe, yeah?” he says, handing me a pistol.
“Absolutely.” I check the gun, making sure it’s loaded and the safety is on.
Anthony continues to scrutinize me. “I don’t think I need to tell you that nothing you hear, see, or do today leaves this place. I have high hopes for you in our organization, Jeremy.”
Nodding, I tuck the gun in my waistband. “I won’t let you down.”
I return to the game room, the weight of the gun in my waistband reminding me every second that I could just kill them all right here and now. It’s tempting, but I don’t know enough about their connections. I don’t want to cut off the head just for another to grow in its place.
Hudson nods at me, and I follow him outside. “Just ride with me.”
He takes us about twenty minutes outside the city to an abandoned church, and pulls around the back of the crumbling parking lot. He backs in where we can watch for the guy we’re here to meet.
“Is there anything I need to know?” I ask.
“We’ve dealt with him before, so I don’t expect any problems, but you never know. The guy is a good supplier. He can find a lot of shit that’s generally hard to locate, but we never know whether to trust him. He just got out on parole for selling firearms, and Anthony thinks it may be a little too convenient that he could locate what we’re looking for so quickly. The good thing is he always works alone. I’ll be honest, he isn’t going to be thrilled I brought you, but I wasn’t going to get shot and robbed out here in BFE.”
“Can you tell me what we’re here for?”
Hudson shakes his head. “Not my place. That’s a question for Anthony.”
“Okay. I’m just not into running drugs. I got no problem with it if that’s how you fund your place, but I really don’t want to be involved.” They don’t run drugs. None of my searches came up with anything drug related. I’m just filling time, fishing for information.
“Nah, man. We don’t fuck with drugs.”
“Good to know.”
A pickup truck with a camper over the bed turns into the lot, and Hudson looks at me. “Stay back, but don’t take your eyes off of us. Just have my back, that’s all.”
We both climb out of the car as the truck parks across from us. Hudson walks toward the truck while I wait, leaning on the hood and watching.
A wiry guy jumps out of the truck, already bitching. “You’re supposed to come alone. What is this bullshit? No witnesses. You know the rules.”
“Relax, Pan. He’s a friend. I’m teaching him the business. He’ll stay by the car.”
Pan—if that’s a nickname they could’ve done better—stares at me for a long moment, and I just stare back, unfazed. Finally, he turns to Hudson. “You wire the money?”
“After you show me the stuff. You know how this works.”
Now I’m paying attention. I assume we’re dealing with guns here, or maybe large amounts of ammunition, but I’d like to know exactly what and how much.
Pan chuckles and walks around to the camper. Hudson glances back to make sure I’m moving out where I can still see them as he follows him back. Pan produces two large boxes, setting them on the tailgate. They converse for a few minutes, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Hudson opens the box and it looks like everything is going to go smoothly until he suddenly punches Pan right in the jaw, knocking him down, but not out. White dust floats up when Pan’s feet stir the gravel as he clambers to get up.
“Motherfucker!” he yells, reaching for his ankle.
I don’t think, just react. Luckily, the punch did throw him off so I’m able to get to them and pull my gun before he can reach his.
He freezes when I press it to the back of his neck. “Don’t fucking move.”
His tune changes quickly. “Hey, ain’t no need for that. It was just a disagreement.”
Hudson reaches down and jerks his pant leg up, revealing the gun in an ankle holster. “Yeah, that’s why you were reaching for this? We do have a disagreement. You think you’re not a bottom dwelling piece of shit, and I disagree.” He takes his gun and searches him, but it’s the only one.
Once the situation is under control, I step back and holster my gun. There’s no one around that I can see, but the threat is over, and I don’t want some passerby catching onto what’s taking place out here.
“Clay, Pan? You brought me fucking modeling clay? You teach Kindergarten in your spare time and mix them up, or you just think I’m that stupid?”
“Man, the guy must’ve ripped me off!” Pan argues, still swaying a bit on his feet. I’ll say one thing for Hudson, he can throw a punch.
“Shut the fuck up.” Hudson glances at me and murmurs, “Watch him.”
He opens the other box and examines the contents. “Other piece is real at least,” he says, glaring at Pan. “So I’ll take that.”
“Half the money then! You got to wire me half the money!”
Laughing, Hudson turns to me. “There’s rope and duct tape in my trunk.”
My heart rate increases as I wonder what he plans to do. I didn’t come here to be a part of a murder, but I also can’t blow my cover. It occurs to me I probably should’ve involved the other In Safe Hands guys, since they have some connections with Striking Back, who has half the damn law enforcement alphabet in their pocket. FBI, DEA, ATF, you name it. They’ve helped us out more than once, and Tucker still works for them.
Too late now.
I retrieve the rope and tape, then hold the gun on Pan as Hudson slides on a pair of gloves and tapes Pan’s hands behind his back. The guy alternates between cursing, threatening, and pleading to be let go as Hudson leads him to the thick, metal guardrail at the edge of the parking lot and ties him to it.
“The fuck! You can’t just leave me here!”
Hudson goes to his trunk and returns with two paper wrapped packages. One is tiny, the other about the size of a brick. “Don’t worry, it won’t take the cops long to get here. I’m sure they’ll be very gentle with you.”
“See, this,” he continues, tearing open the small package. “Is the real shit. I don’t fuck with meth. I’m fond of my teeth, but I knew this would come in handy sometime.” He shakes the powder on Pan’s body and spills a bit on the ground around him. “When the cops test it, they’ll know what happened here. A drug deal gone bad.”
He proceeds to tear open the larger package, then tosses it to the ground and stomps on it. “This is talcum powder. You showed them the real product to test, then tried to sell them the fake shit. Happens every day. So, they beat your ass, tied you to a rail, and made an anonymous call.”
With those words, he kicks him in the face, laying his nose to the side with a sickening crack. He grabs Pan’s phone, and wipes the settings, before removing the SIM card.
“I’ll tell them,” Pan threatens, blood pouring down his face.
Despite the circumstances, I let out a snort of laughter. It reminds me of all those movies where the person threatens the escaping perpetrator that they’re going to call the police. Why are you warning them? You want them to turn around and kill you?
Ignoring me, Hudson continues, “Of course you will, but what do you really know about me? Nothing but a phone number that’s now disconnected, called by a phone that will soon be destroyed. So talk all you want.”
Hudson and I grab both boxes and put them in the trunk. I don’t need to see what was in the other one. There’s only one thing that could be mistaken for modeling clay, and it means I may be in over my head here. I was prepared for another plan, but not one that involved C4, a plastic explosive. The other box must be a detonator, maybe blasting caps. What the fuck do they plan to blow up?
After we clean up anything we’ve touched or that could disprove the narrative we’re leaving for the cops, we jump in the car and head out. A few miles down the road, Hudson pulls over in a fast food joint’s parking lot and regards me.
“You did great back there. Are you cool with this? Because I need to know now if this isn’t how you want to handle it.”
I have to wonder what he’d do if I said no, but instead I force a laugh. “Are you kidding? That was fucking legendary. The guys got to be shitting himself right now.”
A smile cracks across Hudson’s face. “He did that the first time I hit him. Couldn’t you smell it?”
We both crack up, and Hudson reaches across me to the glove box, producing a phone. “It’s a burner,” he assures me, pulling back out onto the road. He dials nine-one-one and raises his voice a few octaves. “Yes, Ma’am. My daughter just came home all scared because she said there’s a man tied up behind the abandoned church on Rockwell Ave. Right before the highway entrance. She says he’s all bloody.”
I can’t hear the dispatcher, but Hudson replies, “Yes Ma’am, that’s the one. No, I’m not comfortable giving my information.”
With that, he hangs up and tosses me the phone. “Take the SIM cards and batteries out of all three phones. We’ll chuck them off the bridge when we cross the lake.”
That’s just what we do. A few minutes later, we pull back into True Life’s complex. Anthony appears out of nowhere, watching us. We get out, laughing about our little adventure. I’m a little impressed with my own acting skills at this point.
“Give us a minute,” Hudson tells me, and I nod, heading inside the Big House. I’m sure he wants to relay what happened and talk about me, of course.
I make myself comfortable in the lounge, and wait. About fifteen minutes later, Anthony appears, locking the door behind him. “So, Hudson tells me you two ran into a little trouble.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Chuckling, he takes a seat across from me. “So I heard. He said he’d trust you to watch his back anytime. I’m glad my instincts were right about you. Now.” He leans in and studies my face. “You’re not a moron, so I assume you know what was supposed to be in those packages.”
Sitting back, I rest my foot on my knee. “Wasn’t hard to figure out, but I can see why you’d want to keep it quiet.”
“Do you have a problem with it? We can find other jobs for you if this isn’t what you signed up for. Less dangerous, working with the vegetables, stuff like that.”
I let out a loud laugh that I hope sounds more real to him than it does to me. “Fuck no. If I wanted to garden, I could do it at home. I like a little excitement. As long as you aren’t asking me to strap the stuff to my chest and walk in somewhere, we’re good.”
Anthony laughs and slaps the couch beside him. “No, we’re looking to better society, not take down the few earth warriors we have.”
“So, we’re all good then? Because I’ve got a woman coming over tonight and I’d rather not smell like blood and dust.”
“We’re good. Go get laid. I’ll be in touch.”
It’s dark when I get back to my car, and I’m mentally worn out. Feeling the baby kick through Melissa’s soft skin was only this morning, but it seems like days ago. God, I’ve never wanted a woman so badly in my life. And it doesn’t have much to do with her looks, which was the way I always judged before.
Melissa is beautiful, but it’s not her night blue eyes or tiny curves I’m missing. It’s her. I want to talk to her, tell her all this shit. Which is ridiculous because she’d run the other way so fast the shockwave would knock me over. I need to keep my distance and only do what’s necessary for her and the baby’s well being.
And judging by the car that’s been following me for the last five minutes, distance won’t be a problem tonight. I can’t go home. I knew that apartment would come in handy.
I swing through a drive through for takeout, then head to the apartment. I told Anthony I had a woman coming, so as soon as I’m inside, I find a local escort service. It’s easier than you’d think, even in smaller towns.
The woman shows up nearly an hour later, and when I let her in, I see the car that followed me parked down the lot in front of the apartment complex’s swimming pool. It’s probably one of the goons watching, but I’m careful not to look directly at the car as I let the woman in.
Once inside, she’s not at all disappointed to find out I just want some company to eat dinner with, and gladly obliges. A few hours later, when I walk her out the door, the car is still there.
Ignoring it, I shut the door and spend an hour watching television. When I look again, the car is gone. I hope that was enough to convince them that this is my home. Exhausted, I fall asleep on the couch, and spend a long night peppered by dreams of babies and bombs.
I do my best over the next few weeks to keep my distance from Melissa unless it’s about the baby. The only time I see her is to attend two more baby care classes with her. They aren’t as emotional as the first. We learn methods to calm a crying baby, change a diaper, etc. It wasn’t too bad, except the one time I dropped the doll. The whole room froze, until Melissa burst out laughing.
I may not see her in person much, but she’s on my mind, and in my damned dreams all the time. It’s all I can do to keep myself distracted, although my undercover work at True Life has helped with that. I know I need to call the guys in soon before Anthony manages to find a seller with the C4 he’s still hunting.
I’m just getting ready to leave True Life when Kelly flags me down. “Jeremy, hey, do you have a minute? My kitchen window is stuck, and I really need to open it. I burnt a pan of noodles and the place is full of smoke. I know it’s not your job, but—”
“Sure, no problem.” I follow her back down the trail to the trailers. I’ve never been inside any of them, and my anger flames up when I walk inside Kelly’s. She’s tried her best to turn a crumbling mess with no electricity or hot water into a home, but it’s pitiful. The only thing they do have is running water, thanks to a nearby well.
The place is full of acrid smoke, and I can barely see to get to the window in question. It takes me a few tries to get it unjammed, but I’m finally successful.
“Thanks,” she says, shedding her coat. “I’ll never get
used to cooking on a wood stove. It’s impossible to control the temperature.”
“You’re welcome.” My eyes catch on a strange tattoo half hidden under the strap of her tank top. “Nice tat. Does it stand for something?”
Her eyebrows jump up. “No one’s told you yet? Once you become a full member of True Life, you have to get their brand. It’s a mix of the letters T and L, see?”
She’s so proud. If there’s one thing a person should never do, it’s disparage someone’s tattoos when they’re stuck with them for life. “Cool, so, everyone has them?”
“Everyone except the First Men, I think. And not always in the same spot.”
She thanks me again for opening her window, and I head back to my car. I’m still seething over the fact that they brand their followers when my phone rings with an unfamiliar number. There’s no mistaking Melissa’s friend Agnes’s voice though.
“Jeremy? You there?”
“I’m here.” I steer the car onto the highway toward home.
“Well, you should be here. Two days she’s been in the hospital and you can’t even check on her?”
My stomach tightens. I’ve been staying at the apartment for a few days while I was helping at True Life. “What happened? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?” I fire off the questions too fast for her to answer.
“That’s more like it. She’s okay now. They’ve just discharged her. The baby tried to come early, but they managed to stop it. She’s on full bed rest though, and you know she ain’t got no family or nothing. So you’d better man up or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“I didn’t know. I’m on my way home now. Whatever she needs.”
“She needs someone to care about her, other than me.”
Running my palm across my face, I sigh. “I do care about her. I’ll keep a closer eye. Thanks for calling.”