HIRED GUN (Culvert City Crime Files)
Page 3
Brenda wants a baby one day, says she wants to start trying the day we move out of this place.
She hangs out with Cherry at her and Wayne's trailer, but she's always real careful to only go over when Cherry's home. She doesn't trust Wayne either. He creeps her out so she makes sure she's never alone with him.
"He's the kind who'll take whats yours when you aren't looking thinking he can weasel his way out of it when he gets caught."
That's what she says about him.
I ran into Cherry at the Want 2 Save last night on the way home.
I forgot to tell Brenda that Cherry was going to her mom's for the weekend.
Alone.
Yank the knot. Pull it tight. I've decided the door.
I stand up.
My head is pounding, heart pumping blood into it, swelling up my brain.
The door knob is waist high. One good kick with my size thirteens done right and that bitch'll be off the hinges and out of my way. I can see my foot going through that cheap ass door on that cheap ass trailer. Feel the way the metal will crumple and fold around my boot sole.
Energy coils deep in my guts, behind my hips. The same energy that lets me haul two hundred pounds of cow food at a time using just my legs and back.
Step back.
Lean.
Deep breath.
My foot lashes out, all my weight behind it. I drive with my hip, the impact thudding all the way up to my teeth. The door squeals as the steel deadbolt shears through the aluminum frame. The door swooshes open, slamming into the table right behind it. Dirty dishes rattle and clatter. The door bounces back, flying closed but I'm ready for it, leg already over the threshold. It bounces off my hip as I start inside, ready to make Wayne's ass look like his door if he's done anything to my Brenda.
"Bobby Lee!"
I stop short and turn.
Brenda comes, kicking up dust down the raw red-dirt hill we all live on. She's breathless when she gets to me. I can't help but watch the scoop of her dress, where it dips down across her chest.
Blood bubbles in my veins, on a low boil.
She looks at the destroyed door then back at me. There's a tiny crease between her eyebrows. "What are you doing, darlin'?"
"Looking for you."
"Here?"
"You left a note, said you'd be here."
"Nobody was home so I walked to the store." She holds up the sixpack of root beer and looks at me funny. "Why would it matter if I was over at Cherry's?"
I say, "Cherry's out of town."
It rises across her face like the sun coming up in the morning.
"You thought I was inside with Wayne? Alone?" She looks down at the boots laced tight around my ankles.
When she stares at my hands I unclench them. "I was coming to get you."
Her arm slides into mine. With a bump of her hip she turns me toward our trailer. In my hurry to get to her I left the door open. The smile she gives is sly and makes her eyes go dark.
I've seen that smile before.
I like that smile.
"Were you gonna save me, Bobby Lee?"
I nod.
She kisses me, fierce and hard, all tongue and heat. When she's done she pulls on my arm, insisting.
"Let's go home, hero, and get those boots off you."
TREATMENT
The final installment of the crime stories found here. This one was another that came from nowhere. It hit me like lightning and I was scribbling the idea down so I wouldn't forget it.
This one stars our favorite nameless hitman, but it's darker, less humorous than some of the earlier stories.
This one lets you know just what he's capable of.
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
TREATMENT
The hammer lays on the table. Blood drys on the end of it, turning black over the iron of the ball-peen. Beside it sits my pack of Coffin Nails (if you're gonna smoke then, by God, you should do it right). The cheap ass lighter leans across them. My phone is next to that.
My foot makes the can on the floor go whub-whub-slosh when it bumps into it.
He's waking up. Making back-of-the-throat grunting sounds as he swims up from unconsciousness like a Special Olympics deep sea diver.
His shaggy head raises slowly, lifting with effort, like it weighs a thousand pounds instead of somewhere between eight to twelve. When his eye meets mine I speak.
"Where's Bonnie?"
"Wha-?? I don't . . . oh fuck! Why does my foot hurt like that?" The chair bounces on the linoleum as he jerks against the ropes, trying to see the floor. I tied them tight so he can't look down.
Which is a good thing.
I don't want to wait another half hour for him to come back around.
"Where's Bonnie?"
His eyes are glassy, unfocused. His lips jabber silently. I snap my fingers, waving them in his face. When he looks I say:
"Tell me where Bonnie is."
"Did you do something to me? To my foot? It's killing me!"
The ball-peen hammer comes out of my hand. It spins, in a lazy, oblong arc, once and around, then hitting him in the chest with a dull, wet, hollow thunk. His shoulders jerk, trying to catch it, but that's impossible with his hands tied behind his back. He whuffs, eyes slamming shut on impact and snapping back open when the hammer head bangs into his lap.
"That happened." I say.
Blood he can see smears down his light blue t-shirt.
I guess it wasn't as dry as I thought.
The chair squeaks as he twists in the hemp, trying to look again. He's going to fall over if he keeps jerking around like that.
"Just quit. You don't want to see that. It'll make you sick."
"You monster. Why would you do that?"
"It's less than you deserve." I light a cigarette, slide the pack in my pocket, leave the lighter on the table. A clean crackle burns deep in my lungs as I pull in the smoke. The adrenaline is evaporating in my bloodstream. It makes the smoke taste slightly metallic in a way that feels good in my stomach. I hang onto it as long as I can, until it begins to curdle, my lungs going bitter and hot.
It swirls when I release it, a lasso crossing between us, twisting around his head in an ephemeral noose. "Where's Bonnie?"
"I don't know..."
"Lie to me again and I'll pick that hammer up and make your face look like your foot."
"I. . ."
I flick ash toward him.
"I'm not kidding. I'll start by using it to knock your nose off your face. I'll hit you just there, on the bridge, until the skin splits. Then I'll use my fingernails to get ahold of the flap of skin that'll be hanging there. I'll probably have to dig in with a finger or two since it'll be all slippery with blood. I'll peel it down and leave it hanging over your lip."
I lean forward.
"Now tell me where Bonnie is."
He stares at me, eyes white around the irises.
The moist, acrid, whang of piss wafts over. A puddle under his chair spreads around his mangled foot. Half-gnawed roast beef in a puddle of lemonade.
He deflats like a fallen souffle.
"She's in a storm drain. Corner of Jefferson and Weezy."
"She alive?"
"When I left she was."
I pick up the phone.
"Did you get that?"
The voice over the other side is deep and melodic in real life. Over the spotty service it's tinny. Crackly.
Damn cheap speakerphone on a cheap burner phone.
"We got it. There's a team already moving." There's a long pause. "We heard it. All of it. Including what you did." There's a second pause. "You know none of this is admissible."
"Do you think little Bonnie Donovan gives a shit about that?"
"But we can't even go after him on this because of what you've done."
"Do you think I give a shit about that? I got paid. Go find little Bonnie Donovan."
"We'll come after you. We'll have to."
; "You don't have any idea who I am. I called you, remember?"
"We're the Culvert City Police Department. We have resources and. . ."
The phone snaps shut in my hand.
Put it in my pocket next to the cigarettes and stand up.
His eye is swollen underneath, he has to peer over purple flesh to see me. "He's right. I'll walk free. Even if they find that girl nothing will happen to me."
I look at him.
His face gets paler and he starts stammering, lips beating against each other as he tries to speak.
"I'll get help. I promise. I'm a sick man. I need treatment. Doctors. Medicine."
My hand closes on the handle of the can under the chair. Heavier than it looks. Five gallons of unleaded heavy.
I unscrew the cap.
"I hope you and Jesus have it all worked out."
OUTRO
Thank you so much for visiting Culvert City with me. Next time we'll take a swing through some of the other sights to see, meet some new folks, maybe take in a show . . . as long as Big Tony isn't there.
If you liked this book then do me a favor and drop a review wherever you bought it. It means so much to the sucess of a book to have you support it. Spread the word!
Until next time stay safe and take care of each other.
Always,
James R. Tuck
For more books by James R. Tuck
check out
www.jamesrtuck.com
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This Way Lies
Madness
A Lovecraftian tale of terror
on the edge of space!
Also by
James R. Tuck
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Blammo!
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