Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1)

by James L. Weaver

  “Come on, Mags.” He led her to the truck and helped her in. He shut the door and returned to Bear.

  “What are you thinking?” Jake asked.

  “I got a cook house, a rock of new meth they’re calling Devil Ice, which I also found in the trailer of a guy I have in custody who happens to work for my local dealer who happens to work for Shane Langston. Combine that with Halle’s iPod and I’d say we’ve got ourselves a good lead.”

  Shane Langston again. Should he bust out the reason for his return besides taking care of his dying father? How would Bear react? He couldn’t do it in front of Maggie. Soon.

  At least they now had something to go on. Jake had the same iPod. His got a good six to eight hours of playing time before the battery ran out which put Halle here not long ago. Where the hell was she now?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  At midnight, moving south on Highway M, Willie turned down a roughly paved unmarked road heading toward the water. He flipped the headlights to bright and slammed the brakes hard when a couple of deer flew across the road, missing his front end by scant inches. Willie instinctively threw his arm across Halle’s chest to keep her from flying into the windshield. Bub grunted as his sausage hands crushed into the dashboard. As if Willie's nerves weren’t frayed enough, he had to worry about a family of deer flying through the windshield and skewering him.

  Bub yelled and reached for the shotgun in the rack behind their heads. Halle screamed at Bub’s lunge and pressed her palms into the dashboard.

  “Bub, what the hell?” Willie said.

  Bub kept his hand on the gun, breathing heavy. “Little bastards coulda killed us.”

  “It’s just a bunch of goddamn deer.”

  “I gotta do something…shoot something. I’m about to lose my fucking mind. We shouldn’t be doing this, Willie. We need to bail.”

  “Relax, man. Smoke a blunt.”

  “I would if I had one.”

  Bub sat back in the seat and they drove on for another mile. Willie leaned forward, squinting through the midnight fog wafting off the road, searching for the turn off. He slowed to a crawl by a blue ribbon tied on a fence post off the road. At a gate blocking the road, he flashed his brights three times.

  A bearded behemoth with a shaved head and a neck as thick as Willie’s waist emerged from the darkness with a rife slung across his back and a pistol in his hand. Was that Rick? Hard to tell. Shane liked to rotate through his crew and they all looked alike, big and mean. Rick eyed the truck for a moment, called in something on a radio and opened the gate. Willie gave him a quick wave, getting nothing but a cold stare in return.

  A quarter of a mile later, Willie stopped in front of the blue house, a sprawling two story nestled in a grove of thick Ozark trees off the water. The house was dark except for a patch of lights on the far end and a single bulb burning over the front door. A pair of boots stuck out of the shadows at the far reaches of the porch light. A heaviness settled in his gut. His chances to save Halle were all but gone. He smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath.

  “Stay here with the girl,” he said to Bub. “Let me make sure everything’s cool with Shane.”

  “What if you don’t come back out?” Bub asked.

  “Then I guess you’re fucked.”

  He climbed out, the rusty door screeching through the night like a banshee. He slammed it shut and walked the few feet to the front door.

  “Go on in,” the voice said from the darkened porch. “He’s waitin’ for you in the den.”

  Willie opened the door and took a few tentative steps inside to the smell of fried bacon and cigarette smoke. A light shined from the kitchen to his left and a figure flashed by the doorway. A bearded face he didn’t recognize. He went right down the dark hallway, his heart hammering.

  He emerged into a brightly lit den. A large head of a ten-point buck hung above a stone fireplace, regarding Willie with glassy eyes. Bookending the fireplace were two comfortable leather highbacks. Shane lounged in one of them in blue jeans and a tight, gray T-shirt talking on his cell phone, his polished, black cowboy boots resting on a wagon wheel coffee table. Shane raised his eyebrows at Willie and waved him forward to sit on the brown leather couch.

  “Yeah, he just got here,” Shane said. “Uh huh. It won’t be a problem, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  Willie's skin prickled, his nerves firing on all cylinders. He didn’t know why Shane wanted him here, didn’t know what he planned on doing with Halle, and had certainly never heard Shane call anyone “sir.” He pulled out his cigarettes, hoping the nicotine would ease the nervous tremble in his hands.

  “Willie.” Shane hung up the phone and settled back in the chair. “Glad you could make it. Any trouble finding the place again?”

  “Little tougher in the dark, but we managed.”

  “Where’s the girl?”

  “In the truck with Bub.”

  “You didn’t invite them in?” Shane asked. “Where’s your manners?”

  “Thought we should talk first.” Willie took a deep pull on his smoke. “I never heard you call nobody sir before.”

  “It’s called respect.”

  “I suppose.”

  Shane plopped his boots to the floor and leaned forward, resting his steely arms on his knees. His jaw tensed as he picked up a large Bowie knife off the table and cleaned his fingernails with it.

  “You know what I hate, Willie?” he asked after a minute of silence, holding his nails out for examination like he just got a manicure at a salon.

  “Loose ends,” Willie said. Shane raised his eyebrows. He pointed the knife at Willie.

  “You’re a smart son of a bitch, Willie. Loose ends make my ass itch. Loose ends are what get people in trouble and at the moment I have more loose ends than a frayed rope.”

  “Like what?”

  “Now you’re playing dumb.” Shane set the knife back on the table. He got up and crossed the room to a bar, his boots thumping against the hardwood. He poured a finger of Scotch from a crystal container. Willie was fine that Shane didn’t offer him one. Scotch tasted like turpentine filtered through a sweat sock. Shane took a sip, walked to the couch and sat next to Willie.

  “You hear about Sedalia?” Shane continued. He raised his eyebrows like Willie should know what the hell he was talking about. Willie shrugged. “Someone hit my warehouse today. Took fifty grand in cash, but left the drugs and called the cops.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Exactly. I wondered who would be dumb enough to hit me. My first thought was our Mexican friends, but they wouldn’t leave six keys of coke and call the cops. I figured it was someone who knew about the stash but didn’t have the balls or resources to move the coke.”

  Willie focused on the imperfections of the polished wood floor at his feet. How the stain coated the wood, but pooled in black lines in the cracks. Like blood. Like his blood if Shane drew conclusions that weren’t there. Did his inability to meet Shane’s gaze spell guilt or insecurity? It didn’t matter one way or the other because he learned long ago from his father to never stare an angry alpha dog in the eye.

  “Let’s see how smart you are, Willie,” he said. “What are my loose ends?”

  Willie wished Shane would've offered him a Scotch, something to calm his nerves. His mind raced through all that happened that day. How truthful should he be? After running through the pros and cons, he decided he might as well lay it out.

  “Howie,” Willie said, looking up. The police had Howie in custody, an easy one. Shane held up a finger signifying he’d scored one point.

  “Your cook, Dexter,” Willie continued. A second finger went up. “Bennett, Bub and the girl”.

  “That’s five.” Shane splayed the fingers of one hand. He drained the rest of the Scotch and set the glass on the table hard enough to jump the ice cubes in the glass. “I’m afraid I’m going to need my other hand to count the rest.”

  “Well, you really only need one more finger.”


  “So who is the last loose end?”

  “Me.” Willie crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray.

  “Very good. And who knew about my warehouse?”

  “Me and Bub. Think I took Howie there once.”

  “Were Bub and Howie with you all day?”

  Willie pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Loose ends, every one of you. And since I hate loose ends, exactly what am I going to do about them?”

  A cold sweat broke across Willie’s brow as Shane picked up his hunting knife, fingering the wickedly sharp blade. He’d witnessed firsthand what his boss could do with one.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Twenty minutes later, Willie stuck his head through the open front door of the blue house and signaled for Halle and Bub to get out of the truck. Perfect timing. Halle had spent that eternity pressed into the driver’s door, as far as she could get from Bub’s wretch-inducing stench. He licked his lips and stroked his hand up and down his thigh while staring at hers. Why didn’t she wear baggy sweats on her run?

  Inside the house, Willie directed Bub to the kitchen and Halle followed Willie down a hall into a room as big as the high school cafeteria. He stepped to the side revealing a muscle-bound man with black goatee and intense eyes. She wrapped her arms across her chest and shivered. Willie introduced him as Shane. Her skin crawled as she shook his cold and clammy hand. Willie and Bub said Shane was dangerous and now, unable to meet that penetrating stare, she agreed.

  “You must be Halle,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  She said nothing, a mixture of fear and anger burning inside her. Fear at what he would do to her and anger at her lack of power to stop it.

  “I apologize for this cloak and dagger business,” he continued. “I’m sure you understand after what you saw at the house.”

  “I didn’t…honestly, I didn’t see anything,” she said, eyes glued to the floor. “Just these guys chasing me through the woods. When can I go home?”

  “Soon, if all goes well.” Shane acted calm, but tension coated the air, like he held on by a very thin thread. “We have to figure out what you did see and what we’re going to do about it. Why don’t you go into the back room and get cleaned up while Willie and I talk?”

  “Then I can go home?”

  “We’ll see.” A phrase translating as No. If Shane had his way, she wouldn’t set foot in her home again.

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said again, forcing herself to look into those black eyes. Her cheeks ached with the tears that threatened to burst forth again.

  “Well, we’ll find out for sure, won’t we?”

  He waved her away and Willie took her by the arm, pushing her to the hallway. They passed a staircase leading down and stopped at an opened door leading to a wood paneled room with nothing but a queen-size bed and an antique dresser with a small lamp and a plastic alarm clock. She passed through the doorway and stopped to face Willie. His hands pressed on either side of the doorframe as if he were trying to hold it open. He represented her only chance at salvation and she had to convince him to help her.

  “Willie,” she whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m so scared.”

  “You got a right to be,” he said. His breath smelled like cigarettes and sour milk. It took everything in her not to cringe away. Instead, she reached out and gently touched his hand with hers, drawing her body closer to his.

  “You gotta help me, Willie. Don’t let them hurt me.”

  With her touch, the pulse in his neck visibly pounded, the wanting fire in his eyes. He checked over his bony shoulder.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “Hell, I don’t know if any of us are safe. No promises.”

  Halle held her close proximity to him with her hand on his for effect before he closed the door. Shuddering with repulsion, she wiped her hands on her shirt. She was screwed if she didn’t get out of here.

  Hours later, after a futile search for an escape, she stood at the window, alternating glances between the spot-lit patio below and the morning sun rising behind the tree line across the gloomy lake. Would she see another sunrise? There was no way out of the room. They locked the door and posted a scary behemoth on the porch outside her window. Widow’s peak on top, cascading mullet in the back, and beady eyes. He looked like a rat with a wig.

  The long-haired giant on the porch cranked his rodent face to the light and winked. Rather than let him see her skin crawl, she dropped back into the bedroom. She plopped on the bed and hugged her knees tight, wondering where her mother was at that moment. Would she ever see her again? She had to be freaking out by now; if only Halle could get word to her. Maybe Willie would deliver a message.

  Just then the door opened and Shane walked in. A giant black man with a shaved head in a tight, blue T-shirt guarded the hallway. Halle bet he ate little children for breakfast.

  “It’s time we had an honest chat, Halle.”

  Halle pressed against the window and clutched the sill behind her as the black man in the hall grinned before turning his back. She stifled a scream as Shane shut the door and stepped towards her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jake welcomed Maggie's head on his chest while they waited for Bear. Light from the television bounced around the room like a strobe, its volume on low. Some late night infomercial offering double the crap if you placed your order in the next ten minutes.

  In a weird way, it felt like high school again, hanging out and watching the tube on the couch with his girlfriend. He had a fleeting sensation her mom would pop out of the kitchen asking Jake if he wanted anything to eat, or, if the hour drew late, her dad strongly suggesting the time had come for Jake to hit the road.

  He slid his hand up Maggie’s back and gently ran his fingers through her hair. She melted deeper into him, as if that touch shattered any lingering doubts about him like a sledgehammer against a mirror.

  “God, I miss you doing that,” she said.

  “Sorry, thought you were asleep.” He dropped his hand.

  “No, don’t stop. It relaxes me. If that’s even possible.”

  Had it really been sixteen years since he’d last sat on this couch? Leg wrapped up in a cocoon of bandages, a hinged brace stabilizing his knee, wondering what in the hell he would do with his life. When Stony shattered the knee, he shattered the dream and the man she loved.

  The athletic scholarship offers were dropped, the college coaches quit sniffing around and the gravity of Warsaw became a massive, immovable force holding him. He knew her frustration as he spiraled down the spiritual drain knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Jake retreated into a shell, and no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn’t come out.

  Medicaid paid for the knee surgery by the cheapest surgeon available. Stony said he’d take him to Kansas City to get it done, but never came home. Maggie and Bear ended up driving him. Jake spent the trip silent as the countryside rolled by, so full of anger and despair that a constant film of tears clouded his vision.

  After the surgery, he did a rotation with Maggie for the first couple of weeks before toughing it out at home. On the rare times the old man came home, Stony mocked him, calling him “the cripple.” Jake tried to put on a brave facade, but Maggie’s face sank when Stony said it; she could see in Jake's eyes that he believed it was true.

  Maggie did everything she could to hold on to him. Why didn’t he let her in? She drove him to rehab in Sedalia before Jake decided to do it on his own with her help. She was there for every agonizing exercise, pushing him, comforting him. He walked again in three months and jogged in six, but his football days were over. Then, one day he left, just disappeared like a wisp of smoke, convinced he was doing the right thing.

  Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and months into years. Not a day passed where she didn’t cross his mind, curious if she ever wondered where he was or what he did. He thought of calling her so many times over the years, but too much
time had passed and he was too afraid of what she might say.

  In the past couple of days, he saw her bond with Halle in every glance at her picture and every determined step she made to find her. She needed her baby girl to keep her going and now a life without her hovered in the unthinkable realm of possibility.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without her,” Maggie said, breaking the silence. Tears choked her voice. “She’s my everything, Jake.”

  “We’re gonna find her, Mags. Sun is coming up and we’ll find her.”

  Hot tears coursed down her cheeks. He swept them away and continued stroking her hair. She slipped her hand around his waist and hugged him tight.

  “Is there anybody we need to call?” he asked. “Her dad? Where’s he?”

  Maggie sat up and yanked a tissue from a box on the coffee table, dabbing her eyes with it.

  “He’s been out of the picture,” she said. “I think not having a father figure around is what’s fueled her rebellious nature.”

  “Nobody steady around?” His brain tried to form a mental image of her with another man, but thankfully nothing came to be.

  Maggie grinned at his prying. “No. In fact, rumor around town is I’m a lesbian.”

  Jake busted out laughing. Maggie joined him for a moment before it died out. She took a deep breath. A heaviness settled in the air, something she wanted to say.

  “Jake...I have to tell you something, but I don’t know how.”

  “Just say it. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

  She stared at the tissue in her hand, shredding it piece by piece. “That’s what you say now.”

  “Maggie, say it.”

  She straightened herself on the couch, facing him. “What do you remember about our last night together?”

  His features sagged and his eyes dropped to his lap, the guilt literally pulling him down.

  “I remember a wonderful night on the hill. You made a little picnic and we shared a bottle of some horrible tasting, cheap wine. We made love and stared at the stars, talking for hours. You tried to get me to see the brightness of the future, but I couldn’t get over the opportunities lost.”