Wade, without his familiar scraggly beard, lectures a group of a dozen on the importance of fighting the government at all levels.
The video with Nick in the background.
The count of videos posted is endless, but there’s nothing interesting about any of them. I’m bored, so I reach to close the laptop lid. I stop when I notice under the FATE title a line of text that reads ‘Private group: 41 Members.’ I click the tab to view all members. Wade Linford and Dwight Stone are listed as administrators. In the search bar labeled, ‘Find a member,’ I enter ‘Nick Ansley.’
His smug face appears next to his name. I click his profile, which displays his posts to the group. His last entry was three weeks ago, but before that, he posted daily. Why did he stop?
I close the laptop and look at the plate on the coffee table. I poke the chicken breast. It’s gone cold, and I question why I even prepared it.
My eyes track to the phone. Lindsay doesn’t want my help, and when I take a step back and think about it, I don’t have any reason to go after Wade the way she does.
I’m not going to get involved. This isn’t my fight, and Lindsay doesn’t need help. I’m going to live as if I never infected Lindsay. Never had feelings for her. Never wished we could be back together.
In what feels like an out-of-body experience, I reach for the phone and swipe open the lock screen. Without hesitation, I tap the recent calls, scroll down, and tap the number.
It rings four times.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Nick?”
“Uh…hey, Chad.”
“Yeah. What’s up, man?”
“Um, nothing. You know dispensaries are open again, right?”
I laugh, a little too forced. “I know.” Damn. I didn’t think this through. I’ve seen him at work a dozen times since I called him to buy marijuana gummies during the lockdown, so calling him like this is awkward. “I just, uh…do you remember when we were going to meet up a few months ago?”
“Yeah, bro. You got smashed by that dickhead in the black car. Crazy. What was that about?”
“I don’t know. I guess the guy thought I was someone else, maybe. Anyway, did you call nine-one-one?”
“Yep. Then I bolted the hell out of there.”
“Well, thanks for calling. It ended up saving our lives.”
“No problem, man.” A sound like a plastic wrapper crinkling comes over the line. “So, was that why you called?”
“Uh, yeah. I…can I buy you a beer?”
Silence.
“You know, as a ‘thank you.’”
More crinkling. “All right,” Nick says with a mouthful of food. “I never turn down free beer.” He chews and smacks his lips. “You work tomorrow?”
I have to think about what day it is. “No, I’m off.”
“Me too. Grimstone Brewery opens at noon.”
I wait for more. He just chews. “All right. See you then.”
I’m tempted to message Lindsay to let her know I called Nick. Instead, I focus my energy on coming up with a plan to convince Nick to get me proof that Wade Linford is selling meth on the reservation.
I’m glad Nick wanted to meet here. Grimstone is my favorite local brewery, and its riverside patio has an incredible waterfront view. Nick isn’t here yet, so I seat myself at a table outside on the empty patio. The sun is bright, but puddles and damp umbrellas remind me of yesterday’s rain. The sky is blue above, but clouds threaten in every direction, forming a gray halo around the sun.
I haven’t come up with anything to get Nick talking about Wade and the meth operation, so I’ll wing it and hope for an opening. The server greets me, and I ask for a glass of water and bread. The headache is at a tolerable throb. Fresh air seems to help. I just wish I had a remedy for this terrible itch. I try to put it out of my mind.
I finish half the bread in the basket and down two glasses before Nick saunters outside, scanning the empty patio. I wave him down, and he plops into a chair, causing too much ruckus for one person.
“Hey, man,” he says.
“Hey. I was going to order food, too. It’s my treat if you’re hungry.”
“Sweet. Money’s been a little tight lately, so I’ll take a free meal.” He snatches a menu from the table and drums his fingers as he looks over it.
The server comes out and takes our orders—rib platter and an IPA for Nick, bacon burger and an imperial stout for me. Of course he’d order the most expensive entrée, but he provided me with an in—money trouble—so I ask, “You had a side-gig going, right?”
Nick sucks on his lower lip and eyes me like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of an abstract sculpture.
Damn it. I jumped the gun.
Nick nabs a piece of bread and bites off a hunk. “Yeah. I had a little something going on.” He grins like a cocky frat boy.
The server comes out and drops off our beers.
Nick takes a hefty gulp from his glass. “What are you getting at?” The overconfident smirk shifts into a sneer.
Shit. How do I play this? Do I act like I’m into the militia thing? Do I come right out and tell him about Lindsay’s cousin and ask about Wade? I’m so screwed.
“Do you know Wade Linford?” No! The words slip out. I shouldn’t have said anything. Oh, shit. I totally—
“Yeah. He’s a piece of shit. How do you know him?” He says it more out of curiosity than suspicion.
I’m stunned by his reaction. “He, uh…sold meth to my girlfriend’s cousin.” Cue internal cringe.
Nick sits back in his chair and sips his beer. “Huh. So, are you like, hunting him down or something?”
“No. No, nothing like that. I just…I’d love to get something to take to the police. To shut him down, you know?”
Nick plucks the last piece of bread out of the basket and rips a chunk off. He pops it in his mouth. While chewing, he says, “He’s not someone you fuck around with. Dude’s got an army behind him. You mess with him, your gambling with your life.”
“I’m not trying to start a fight. I just want to get something to take to the police.”
Nick downs the half-full glass and slams it on the table. He leans forward onto his elbows. “Wade fucked me over. I wouldn’t mind seeing him go down. I can take you to his place,” he says, two notches above a whisper. “Where he makes his stuff.”
I follow Nick to Wade’s property, and the trip seems to go by faster than the previous one. Funny how travel time seems different when you’re going somewhere you’ve been before.
He parks his Jeep in the gravel and waves me over. “Park on the other side, by that garage.”
Nick stands in front of his Jeep, his phone at his side.
The ground is still soft from the rain, but the puddles have since dried up. I get out and walk toward Nick. I flick my head toward the big building. “What about those cameras?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. My buddy Mike is the only one that ever checks them. He’s cool. Hey, I need to make a quick call, all right? Lady troubles.” He taps his screen and puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, it’s Nick … I know, but hear me out, okay…” He walks around the side of his truck and leans against the fender. I can’t hear what he’s saying. None of my business anyway.
I stroll toward the small building. The padlock on the garage door is enormous. I realize the door touches the ground now, closing the gap that Lindsay peeked through yesterday. Were these tire marks here then? I step closer. The mud in front of the garage is impacted. Someone must have pulled a vehicle into the garage. I hear Nick open his car door, but I’m too focused on the mud prints to care. I look around the sides of the building. There are no signs of anyone here.
Nick’s voice gets louder. “What do you mean? … What woman? … Oh, shit. No way! … All right. Bye.”
I spin around toward Nick.
He’s pointing a handgun at me. He slides the phone into his pocket with his other hand.
“What is this, Nick?”
“Hands up. Go around to the back.” He gestures with the gun.
“Nick...what are you doing?”
“It’s not personal. You seem like a good dude. But Wade cut me out of his operation, and catching somebody snooping around his place will get me back in his good graces.”
I step back. “You don’t have to do this.” He’s standing between me and my truck now. I could probably run to the other side of the building, but it’s a good fifty feet before the tree line. My legs go weak. Heart races. Sweat pours from my hands.
“Oh, I do need to do this. I need the money, man. My ex is making me pay a thousand a month for child support.”
“There has to be another way. Help me get Wade arrested. We can find a way to get you money.”
“Hmm.” He tilts his head as if deep in thought. “Nope.”
“Are you going to kill me? You don’t think people at the prison are going to ask questions?”
“I’m not going to kill you, Chad. But I am going to lock you in this garage. Whatever happens after that isn’t my problem.”
“Nick—”
“Move!” He charges toward me with the pistol aimed at my chest.
I raise my hands, but my right shoulder feels like it’s being ripped out of the socket, so I put them in front of me. “Okay. Okay. I’m turning around, all right?” I slowly turn my back to him. The hairs on my neck stand at full salute. I can feel the eye of the gun staring at my exposed body.
“Wait. Take your keys, wallet, and phone out of your pockets.”
I remove the items and set everything on the ground in front of the garage door.
“Go.”
I walk around the side of the building. Slow steps. Left hand above my head, my right as high as the pain allows. Trickles of sweat gliding down my wrists and forearms. Not now. Unless...maybe I can infect Nick.
“Keep going,” he says.
I stop at the door.
“Undo the latch.”
I struggle to lift the two-inch solid metal bar between the excruciating pain in my shoulder and my moist hands.
“Come on,” Nick says.
I finally get the bar lifted.
“Open the door and get inside.”
I reach for the doorknob but halt.
“Get in.”
How can I touch him? He’s wearing short sleeves, but he’s going to think I’m going for his gun. Sweat drips from my fingertips. I have to find a way to infect him.
That’s it. I have to try to disarm him.
“Open the door.”
I cautiously turn back toward him.
He’s too far. I can’t get to him before he’d shoot.
“Nick.”
“Turn around. I don’t want to kill you, but I will shoot your ass.”
I extend my left hand. “Please.”
“Open the fucking door.” He bares his teeth, snarling like a rabid wolf.
My slim chance evaporated. I turn around, twist the knob, and push the door open.
There’s an SUV inside. Green. Muddy tires.
Oh shit.
It’s Lindsay’s Subaru.
I hear shuffling footsteps, and then Nick kicks me in the lower back, and I stumble and skid across the dusty floor.
The door slams shut.
The heavy latch bangs closed.
16
“Let me out of here, Nick! God damn it!” I clamber to my feet and slam into the door, but the shock wave reverberates through my body and pulsates in my sore shoulder.
My eyes take a minute to adjust to the dark. Sparse light filters in through a small vent on the side wall, but otherwise, the garage is black. I lean against the door and try to gather my bearings. Nick’s footsteps shuffle the rocks outside; he’s walking toward the front of the building. I shouldn’t have trusted him. He’s talking, but his voice is too muffled to understand him, so I tiptoe across the grimy floor and put my ear against the big garage door.
“… I didn’t … No, I just put him in there … Well, shit. How was I supposed to know, man? … He ain’t getting out of there. Not with that bar across the door … Yeah, I’ll stay … All right.”
I am screwed. Up the creek without a paddle or a boat and cinder blocks tied to my feet. I tug on the garage door, but it only lifts about an inch off the ground thanks to the giant padlock that I just now remember. Damn. I step back and bump into the SUV. How the hell did Lindsay’s car end up in here?
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so I peek in the rear windows. Nothing. I make my way to the passenger-side window. The inside of the car is empty. I walk around the hood to the driver’s side.
Oh no.
Lindsay lies on the ground, her hands and feet bound behind her back.
I kneel beside her. “Lindsay? Lindsay?” My hands quake. “Lindsay?”
I’m petrified. I fear she’s dead. I’m scared to touch her, to make that a reality.
I blow out a breath and reach down to touch her skin.
She’s warm. Hot, even.
It’s too dark to see her face clearly. There’s a tool chest to my right, so I slide a drawer open and feel around, hoping to hell there’s nothing sharp in there. Screwdrivers and wrenches. I open another drawer. I reach in, and my thumb strikes the switch of a flashlight. I grab it and shine it near Lindsay.
There’s a deep purple lump on the side of her forehead and a line of crusty blood oozing from a cut above her eyebrow.
My stomach turns. What the hell happened? I untie the nylon rope bound to her wrists and ankles, careful not to move her head.
“Lindsay? Can you hear me?”
She moans, her eyes flutter behind their lids.
“Hey. It’s Chad.”
Lindsay’s eyelids part, one before the other. Her eyes are scrambled, unfocused.
“Don’t move, okay?” I reposition myself so she can see me without moving her head. Despite my clamminess, I grab her hand and squeeze.
She gives a weak squeeze in return. “Chad?”
“Hey. I’m here. Are you okay?”
“What…what happened?”
“Uh, it looks like you got hit pretty good on your head.”
She reaches for the wound and winces upon touching it. “Where are we?”
“I think we’re in Wade Linford’s garage.” I want to ask what the hell she was doing. Did she come here snooping around? What was she thinking? My heart rate is skyrocketing.
“Oh.”
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Do you know what happened to you?”
“I…I came to break into the big building. There—” She clamps her eyes shut and grimaces. “Ouch.” She huffs. “There are windows on the other side. They’re…they’re blacked out. I couldn’t see in, so I broke one. I started to climb in. But a guy was in there.”
“Wade?”
“No. A skinny guy. Buggy eyes.”
A dizzy spell strikes out of nowhere and almost knocks me over. I brace myself and shake it off. The fever is threatening to erupt, but I fight with every cell in my body to prevent it.
“There weren’t any cars here. I didn’t know anyone was here.” She stifles a sob and stiffens her face. “Chad?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for coming after me.” Her lips tremor.
I didn’t know you were here, I say in my head. “Of course,” I say out loud.
Lindsay pushes herself up into a seated position and leans against the driver-side door of her SUV. “My head feels like a tornado.”
“Try not to move. You have a pretty nasty bump on your forehead. Did the skinny bug-eyed guy hit you?”
“I…maybe? He came after me. He had a…like a pipe or something. I can’t…can’t remember.”
“Okay. We’ll get out of here. Do you have your keys or phone?”
She clumsily pats her pants pockets. “No.” Her voice is faint.
“Anything in your car that might help us?”
“I don’t…I don’t
know. I’m so tired.” Lindsay’s head slumps down onto my shoulder.
“Lindsay?”
She goes limp. Soft snorts escape with each breath she takes.
I click on the flashlight and scan my surroundings. A red padded creeper seat used for rolling underneath a car. The tool chest. A workbench littered with magazines, crushed beer cans, and an unopened package of shop cloths. I can use that. I gently scoot to my left and ease Lindsay’s head to the hard ground, then grab the shop cloths and tear open the packaging. I tuck the pile of cloths under Lindsay to give her a relatively comfortable pillow.
Now to find a way out of here. I spin in a slow circle, the flashlight’s weak beam a yellowish spotlight on the innards of the garage. On the wall next to the walk-in door is a switch. I step around Lindsay and flick it. A panel of white tube lights illuminates. The center of the garage is lit, but the corners remain dark. I wonder if Nick can see the light on from outside. I don’t think it matters, but the thought stays with me.
My best option is to get Nick talking. And I have to do it before Wade or anyone else gets here. I lose grip on the flashlight but catch it before it falls to the ground. Damn sweaty hands. Touching and infecting Nick would be a bonus.
I press my ear to the roll-up garage door. I don’t hear Nick. I’m certain I would have heard his Jeep if he left, though, so he’s still out there. Probably.
“Nick?” I yell through the door. I peek at Lindsay, but she doesn’t stir. “Come on, man. It doesn’t have to happen like this.”
Nothing.
And then…gravel shuffling. Getting louder. A stray rock clangs against the metal garage door.
“Listen. Get us out of here, and I’ll help you with the money. I mean it.”
Silence.
“Nick?”
“Man, I can make three or four grand a week working for Wade. You seem like a decent dude, but …”
“Then let us out because it’s the right thing to do. You’re not a killer.”
“I told you…nah, man. If I let you out, Wade’s going to cut me off again. Or maybe worse.”
“You can let us out, then tell Wade we overpowered you and escaped.”
Nick laughs. “Yeah, that’ll make me look good.” His footsteps scuff the rocks. “Sorry, man.”
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