She reached out and touched his arm. “You okay?”
Her electric touch sparked a torrent of feelings. Love and regret, happiness and longing, joy and pain. He wanted to go back in time to their spot on the hill where the world still didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but they at least had each other.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he lied. She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips. Even after sixteen years, she could tell when he was full of it.
“Uh huh. That’s what I thought. You just check in?”
“Couple hours ago,” Jake said. “Stony’s sleeping. I dozed off and had a helluva nightmare.”
“About your dad?”
“And Nicky. Jumping back here…”
“Brings back a lot of memories.” She dropped her arm back to her side. Their hilltop off Poor Boy Road reflected in her eyes. She’d aged, but man did she age well, more beautiful now than at eighteen.
“Maggie,” he said. “I don’t know what the hell to do.”
Jake waited for her response. He’d done some pretty unspeakable things over the last decade, things he wasn’t proud of, things that would land him a good stretch in prison if he’d been caught. Those he worked for counted on him because he proved to be an unflappable, unshakable rock. Yet, standing by the entrance to the building where his father lay dying inside, and touched by a woman he’d never stopped loving, Jake was weak and vulnerable.
“I know what to do.” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, burying her pretty head into his chest. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
He inhaled the flowery scent wafting off her hair. “Don’t you have to work?”
“Nope. I’m done now.”
She slid her arm around his elbow and grabbed his bicep, pulling him toward his truck.
“Where we going?” Jake asked.
“Stony’s in good hands. You got any beer up at your house? I could sure use a cold one and I’d like to know what you’ve been up to for the last sixteen years.”
“Guess I could do that.”
The setting sun loomed large in the clear autumn sky as they left Hospice House and headed south. He stole glances at Maggie as they drove. Maybe not all past shadows were dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Wild Man ate Halle up with his crazy eyes, reminding her of the gnashing, roaring monsters in her childhood book Where the Wild Things Are. Bennett Skaggs huffed back up the trail when Wild Man gave an ear-piercing whistle.
“Yeah, my pretty,” Wild Man said. The vise grip on her neck burned and his free hand traced her neck to her shoulder. Halle shivered and groaned as his fingers touched the top of her breast. Visions formed of her naked, crumpled figure lying on the forest floor while these animals had their way with her.
“Let her go, Dexter,” the voice behind Wild Man said. Dexter’s hungry expression crashed to tight lips and an eye roll of disappointment.
“Fuck that,” Dexter said. “She’s coming with us.”
Willie Banks came down the trail over Dexter’s shoulders, the hood of the suit bouncing behind him. Bennett lagged behind, red-faced and breathing heavy. Willie had a gas mask in one hand and a large, black pistol in the other. Willie creeped her out. Always staring with lustful hunger on his pockmarked face. However, he also appeared to be her only chance out of this situation.
“Willie, help me,” she said, the breathless speech of the panicked. He twitched at the mention of his name coming from her lips.
“Jesus Christ,” Dexter said. “The bitch knows your name?”
“Of course she does, you moron.” Willie drew up beside Dexter and pulled his hand away from Halle’s throat. “How big a town you think we live in?”
“This is a problem,” Dexter said, drawing his gaze down Halle’s body. Goosebumps erupted on her skin. “A problem I can take care of…eventually.”
“You ain’t takin’ care of nothing but bagging up what’s left in the house,” Willie said. “This is my town and she’s now my problem.”
He gripped Halle's arm and dragged her sideways away from Dexter. She went willingly, glad to be out from under the vulture’s gaze, even if it was Willie Banks doing the tugging. Dexter grabbed her other arm and her hamstring groaned in protest. Willie set off toward the house but Dexter held his ground, turning her into an absurd wishbone contest.
“You know, the boss won’t put up with no witnesses to the operation,” Dexter said. “It ain’t gonna happen.”
“Let’s get her back to the house,” Willie said. “We’ll secure her, finish bagging the stuff, and get Bub and Bennett on the move.”
“You should quit using our names,” Bennett said.
“You went to fucking school with her, Bennett. She cheered you playing football last year. Get up to the house.”
Bennett trudged up the trail like a little kid being sent to his room without any supper. Dexter gave Willie a squinty “this shit ain’t over” look before following Bennett.
“You okay?” Willie asked softly when the others were out of ear shot.
“Think I blew my hamstring running.” A glimmer of optimism burned like a fire through Halle’s body. Maybe she could charm her way out. “Can you help me get home?”
Willie drew his head back, eyes wide with disbelief. He dropped his gaze to the gun in his hand.
“Home?” he said, pushing her gently up the slope after the others. “You ain’t going anywhere. What the hell are you doing back here, anyway?”
Halle winced with each step, like someone stabbed her with a knife in the back of her leg. The urge to drop to the ground and vow to go no further tempted her, but Dexter kept a close watch over his shoulder; he probably wanted her on the ground.
“Was going to hang with my friend at the house, but she didn’t show,” Halle said, stopping. She couldn’t run, but she didn’t want to go in the house. Bad things would happen. “I haven’t seen anybody at that house for months until you guys showed up,” she continued. “Come on, Willie, let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you being here. Hell, I don’t even know what you were doing.”
Willie waved the pistol forward, motioning her to move again.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “I’ll try to keep you safe, but in the end…it ain’t gonna be my call.”
As they crested the small hill and the ramshackle ranch lay ominously before them, Halle had the sick feeling Willie having a thing for her wasn’t going to be enough to keep her alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As Willie prodded Halle up the hill in the descending darkness, Sheriff Bear plopped the baggie of red rocks on a scarred wooden table in the dimly lit holding room at the Benton County Jail. Howie slumped in a creaky chair, his skinny arms hugging his torso, the death sentence in a bag in front of him.
He was screwed. If he said nothing, Bear would beat the shit out of him and he’d spend the last of his teen years in prison for meth distribution. Given his moderate but significant juvenile rap sheet, Judge Cronin would have no qualms sending him away. Willie and Shane might make some minor attempts to keep him happy and quiet, but in the end, Shane would count him as too big a liability and Howie would end up with a steel shank shoved through his ear in the exercise yard.
If he told Bear any tidbit of information, Bear would beat the shit out of him to get more, get pissed when he didn’t get any, and send Howie in front of Judge Cronin who’d send him up the river. Shane wouldn’t worry about keeping Howie happy. Howie would end up ass raped in the shower for his loose lips with the same steel shank shoved through the same ear.
The third option? Tell Bear whatever he wanted to hear in exchange for immunity from prosecution and a relocation package for himself and his brother. If worse came to worse, he could leave Bennett behind, though Shane would kill him. Their chances of staying alive with a pissed off Shane roaming the lands weren’t great, but they were better than prison, and would probably save him a beating from Bear. But, turning into a ra
t? That made his stomach harden.
“Howie?” Bear asked, leaning forward on the table, his paws interlocked in front of him. Howie was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed Bear sit at the table.
“What? You’re seriously going to break my balls over a few little rock chips?”
“Yeah, I am.” Bear's dark eyes bore into Howie’s, forcing Howie’s gaze back to the Devil Ice. “You know how long I worked to get this crap out of my county? You know how many skulls of shitheads like you I’ve cracked? How many of my kids’ games I missed? How many lives you’ve destroyed spewing this poison around? Do you have any idea, Howie?”
Howie shook his head, almost imperceptibly like a nervous tick. His brain thumped from the horrific hangover and the slap delivered by Deputy Sad Dog when he put Howie in the room. Sad Dog Daniels never liked Howie, and now hung back in the corner behind Bear, arms crossed and a sadistic smirk pasted on his red-faced mug.
“So, what is this?” Bear asked, picking up the bag of Devil Ice and waving it in front of Howie. “What’s it called and where’d you get it? You cooking in my town again, Howie?”
“No, sir,” Howie said. “That bag ain’t mine.”
“Oh, well hell.” Bear dropped the bag on the table and kicked his chair back. “We might as well cut him loose, Daniels. The bag ain’t his.”
Sad Dog laughed. “Must belong to his scumbag brother.”
“Ain’t his either,” Howie said.
Bear stretched his arms to the heavens and adopted the voice of the local Baptist minister. “Lord, it’s a miracle. This bag of red rock just magically appeared on your bedside table next to an unregistered pistol, neither of which your dumb ass is supposed to have because you still have six months of probation, am I right?”
Bear moved around the table and directly behind him, the thundering pulse in Howie’s neck visible. Howie closed his eyes and readied his mind for Bear’s fist to crash into his skull. Instead, Bear leaned forward, his thick fingers digging painfully into the meaty space under Howie’s collarbone. His face close enough that his beard tickled Howie’s cheek.
“I can help you, Howie,” Bear said, his scratchy voice low, almost an intimate whisper. “I’m the only one in this entire county who can actually help you. I can help you because I don’t want you. I want the sumbitch who is bringing this shit back into my town. You’re going to tell me or I am going to throw you in a cell with Big Dick Sanders who hasn’t had a warm body to snuggle up to in a couple of weeks and would love to make his acquaintance with your tight, white ass. When Big Dick is done, I’m going to beat you so bloody your momma is going to need to fetch your dental records so Doc Thompson can identify your remains.”
Howie winced as Bear’s claw dug harder into the muscle of his neck. His mind raced. Bear hurt him and itched to do more. Sad Dog waited across the room with a hungry look, like a Doberman anticipating the attack command from his master. Howie pictured Shane and Willie safely at the house sipping drinks and counting money. That fat tub of lard Bub Sievers would go on being a waste of oxygen while some tattooed lifer in prison took out his frustrations on Howie’s ass. Mostly, he worried about his brother. If Howie gave Bear anything useful, Bennett would die a horrible death at the hands of Shane.
“What’s the street name for this?” Bear growled, clamping harder on Howie’s collarbone. Howie howled, stamping his foot to dissipate the pain, worried his collarbone would snap like a toothpick if Bear applied anymore pressure.
“It ain’t got a street name,” Howie cried. When the words escaped his lips, Bear released his death grip, but kept his hand on Howie’s throbbing shoulder.
“What’s it called?”
Howie desperately tried to figure out how much he could say. “Devil Ice, I guess.”
“Where’d you get it?” Bear asked.
“I don’t know,” Howie said, howling again as Bear clamped on to the collarbone again.
Bear gritted his teeth. “Don’t say I don’t know to me again. Where did you get it?”
“Hank Troy,” Howie said, expelling the name of a small-time local dealer who he hated.
“When did Hank Troy sell it to you?”
“Last night at the Turn It Loose,” Howie said. In truth, he hadn’t seen Hank in a couple of weeks but hoped his lie would help the pain in his shoulder go away. Instead, it intensified.
“Hank Troy has been in County for the last ten days, you dumb son of a bitch. Nothing pisses me off more than some dickless tweaker jerking my chain. Did Hank sell this to you?”
“No,” Howie whimpered, tears forming in his eyes. Panic rose through his skinny frame and the truth bubbled to the surface. One more ounce of pressure from Bear and he would spill everything and that would be the end of him.
“Give me something and I’ll make the pain go away.” Bear clamped down further.
“Shane,” Howie said, the pitch of his voice near a howl.
Bear’s eyebrows shot up. “Shane Langston?”
Before Howie could even nod, a knock sounded on the door. Bear jerked his head to Daniels to answer the door. Daniels got up and moved to the door of the interrogation room. Howie crimped his shimmering eyes shut.
“Sheriff Parley,” a deep voice said. “I suggest you take your hands off Mr. Skaggs.”
“Who the hell are you?” Bear asked, releasing the pressure from Howie’s collarbone.
“I’m Mr. Skaggs’ attorney and I’d like a moment alone with my client. Now.”
Howie’s eyes opened wide, as surprised as Bear and Deputy Daniels at the dark-suited figure in the doorway. How in the hell did he get an attorney?
Bear edged away from the table, rubbing his fingers with his opposite hand, no doubt trying to get circulation flowing through them again. He studied the card the lawyer offered then crumpled it in his hand. “We’re not done here, Howie. Not by a long shot.”
#
Halle drew her knees together and rocked back and forth on the edge of a bare mattress in the back room of the abandoned house, dreading the opening of the door. Muffled voices emanated from the other side as Willie and Dexter argued. She caught brief snippets of the conversation which centered around her.
Someone had painted the window shut and it wouldn’t budge. She came close to tossing a chair through the glass, but realized she wouldn’t clear the window sill before those animals pounced on her. She’d hobbled around the room on her bad leg searching drawers in a nightstand and a dresser for some kind of weapon, but got nothing for her efforts but filthy hands.
Her mind raced at potential strategies to get out of this mess, but saw little chance. Dexter wouldn’t let her go. Bub Sievers would love to come into the room and have his way with her, maybe the Skaggs brother would join him. Mom was strong, what would she do? She'd always taught Halle that nothing was given to you. No matter the situation, you had to work for what you wanted and not rely on anyone else but yourself. Especially, a man. But her mom also said you draw more flies with honey than vinegar. Willie liked her, despite her young age. If she could charm him, he might keep her alive long enough to get out of this. As if on cue, Willie’s voice drew closer to the door, which cracked open seconds later.
“You go play with your girlfriend,” Dexter said. “We’ll see what the Man has to say about it.”
Willie entered, red-faced and tight jawed. He shut the door behind him and ran his hands through his long, frazzled hair. He'd replaced the plastic suit with ratty, stained jeans, holes in the knees, and a well-worn blue denim shirt, the cuffs rolled up.
“What’s going on, Willie?” Halle asked.
Willie focused on the dusty floorboards for a moment before dropping on the edge of the bed. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Halle. You’re in deep trouble.”
“What for? I didn’t see anything.”
“Yeah, you did,” Willie said. “You know it and I know it. The question is what are we going to do about it?”
Tears welled up as her mind raced to th
e dark, macabre places this situation could lead. There wasn’t any way she would get out of this unhurt. She’d never wanted to hold her mother more in her life.
“Just let me go home,” she said, eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Willie. Let me go home. I won’t say anything. Hell, I don’t even know what I saw.”
“Ain’t up to me. I’m gonna do my best to keep you safe. I can control these animals out here, but when…the boss gets wind of this, I can’t say what he’s gonna want to do. He’s not big on loose ends.”
“But I don’t know anything,” Halle said, a tear falling on her cheek.
“Yeah, you do.” Willie wiped the tear from Halle’s cheek then walked out leaving Halle to imagine her fate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jake pulled up the drive to the old homestead, Maggie sitting quietly in the passenger seat. Jake was thankful she left her car at Hospice House. Halfway between Sedalia and Warsaw, Maggie had rested her hand on top of his. Jake was surprised sparks didn’t fly from the electricity coursing through his veins. They spoke little as they rolled up and down the highway hills. Jake wanted to talk but had trouble coming up with anything to say.
He parked in front of the house and listened to the engine tick. A few loose leaves drifted on the truck's black hood before dashing away in the evening breeze. Jake rotated his broad shoulders toward her.
“Maggie…” he said, before trailing off. Once he looked into her eyes, his train of thought completely derailed. He worked his mouth open and closed as if the mechanical motion would fire the synapses of his brain.
“How ‘bout that beer? I’ve got a few minutes before I need to get home.” Maggie flashed her deep dimples, saving him.
They got out and walked into the house. Even with Stony gone, it still smelled musty and decayed, and he reminded himself to open the windows once he and Maggie were done. He grabbed a couple of cold beers and headed back to the front door. He scanned to the left where Maggie now wandered fifty yards away through the uncut grass, toward their spot on the hill. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a nod to follow. He double-checked the locked toolbox on his truck and waded through the grass after her.
Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) Page 11