I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered into the scummy glass. Dan hadn’t cleaned an inch of grime off those panes, so it was like staring into pond water. There wasn’t any movement, which was enough to tell me that dog wouldn’t hunt. Wherever that jerk Dan Arnold was, it wasn’t here.
Roscoe wedged her nose out the crack in the window on the passenger side and sniffed around. Her thick golden coat remained the only bright thing in my life. “He ain’t here, Ros,” I said. “Maybe somebody got to him before we did.” I walked to the side of the trailer and stared into the thick stand of pine that seemed to stretch on for miles. The sweet syrupy smell of the forest air tickled my nose in all the worst ways—the scent guiding me back to a dark, unmentionable evening spent in that thicket. I shook it off and turned back to my truck.
I cranked the engine; the hood vibrating like always, and let my tires chuck gravel at the siding of Dan’s house as I rolled out. That mean old son of a bitch had something coming, but a lot of like the rest of life, that didn’t mean it was coming anytime soon. Hell, if Dan had answered the door, it was a longshot that I’d actually bark out the monologue I rehearsed with Roscoe on the drive over. She’d thought it was great—but I knew it needed work.
Dan’s mailbox lay on the ground at the end of the long, weedy driveway, the number eighteen barely visible beneath an army of fire ants that made camp of the abandoned structure. I saw a spot of white through the worn metal and something gnawed at me. Who the hell was writing to Dan Arnold?
I snaked my fingers into the only access point and snatched the envelope. As I drew it in, I figured it’d be a bill. Probably overdue. Hell, Dan Arnold was so broke he couldn’t pay attention. An old holler trick was to leave the bill in the box so that if the debtor ever came knocking, a man could just plead ignorance. Although with Dan it wasn’t much about pleading. Ignorance pumped through his veins beside blood, coke, and whatever prescription pills he could farm from the little league bleachers at Jaycee Park.
The exterior of the envelope appeared faded and soggy from last night’s rain, but before I could hold it up to the sun, a bright red car curved around the bend and slowed to a halt. The vehicle was spotless, one of those kinds of things you see walk off the lot in Maynard and head north towards the city. Nice things like that didn’t much belong in Bamber Lake, so when the window drew down to reveal Sara Tucker, I laughed.
“Something funny, Vic?” she said, red hair held tucked behind her ear.
“Who’d you borrow this boat from?”
She popped her gum. “A gentleman might think twice before insinuating like you are. Why can’t this be my boat?”
“Cause this is worth more than your double-wide.”
“I sold it all,” she said. “Antero Energy came knocking with a check in hand. They found what they need somewhere miles beneath my trailer. I’m flush, Vic.”
“Sure you are, Sara. And I’m the owner of Boardwalk and Park Place.”
“Oughta send your ass to jail then. I’ll call the Sheriff. Ya know, it’s criminal to look through somebody’s mail, even if it’s just Dan.”
I figured I shouldn’t admit much of anything. “You seen him?”
“Dan? Or the Sheriff?”
“Dan. We were supposed to hike into the bush today and—”
“Nah, he wasn’t down at Hoovers last night neither.”
I crossed my arms. “Don’t tell me you drove this behemoth down to Hoovers.”
“I did. I ain’t lying about Antero. I’ve got cash to burn.”
“And parked it in the lot? You’re asking for trouble, Sara Tucker.”
“I don’t have to ask for nothing, Victor Redding. I’m trouble through and through.” She glanced down at her lap, then whispered something foul. That was the girl I knew. “I’ve gotta run. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dan you were sifting through his mail. Come by the house sometime if you want a drink. Might as well say goodbye to the place.”
“More like good riddance.”
“Don’t be sour you didn’t have the good fortune of a real estate boom when you owned the lot. Ain’t no use in blaming a friend when it was fate.”
I cocked out my middle finger and waved it. “Adios, Sara.”
As she left, I stood in her dust cloud and spit onto the ground. With my cell phone flashlight, I held the envelope over the bulb and squinted at the outline of a logo. When I recognized it, I dropped the paper to the ground and cursed. Antero. They’d bought half the holler and hadn’t quit. I didn’t own anything worth a lick, but I’d lost half my friends to the damn company, and now I was sure to lose a hell of a lot more.
I pocketed the envelope, nudged Roscoe back onto the passenger side of the cab, and sped towards home and rang John Boeringer.
An hour later, I met John at the junkyard and explained the plan I didn’t want to mention over the phone. He didn’t flinch, didn’t try to talk me down from it—just asked for the cash up front and that we keep things discrete. I knew John and Dan had bad blood from an old scrap over doe-eyed Penny Sewell, but expected more hesitation. I guess when you spend twenty years of your life killing men, it doesn’t much matter whether you’re in uniform or not. Although, I wondered how Penny would look at the whole mess down the road.
After a few minutes, John gave me the list. It was short and simple, a lot like John. He gave me an hour to get the ingredients, and I drove off into the junkyard like a kid on a scavenger hunt. By the time I’d finished, I had most of everything. The rusted propane tank rolled around my truck bed as I slowed to a halt beside John’s shack of an office.
John Boeringer looked around, hummed a bit, and then slapped the side of the truck and nodded. “That’ll do.” He flipped around the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “I’ll follow you over. Get you squared away. Then you’re on your own and we never spoke.”
“Understood.”
I swallowed hard. John paused for a second and kept his eyes on me. “There’s usually simpler ways than this, you know. You two could talk it out. This about a girl?’
“Maybe,” I said.
“I heard he went home with Sara few nights back. Knew she rents your old property but didn’t know you two had history. But I guess it’s a small town.”
“He went home with Sara Tucker?”
“Yeah—think that’s her family name at least. Reddish hair. Voice like thunder.”
“That’s Sara Tucker.”
“Look, I don’t know—maybe she was just catching a ride home with him. Not my place to ask.”
“It’s not about her. She’s good people. It’s an old matter.”
“Right,” John said. “Let’s get moving.”
John called out orders like he was a chargehand, but I did what he asked and proceeded without question. My eyes drifted into the forest from time to time, but that was pure instinct. Something in my gut told me I shouldn’t stop and think, just act. That’s the horror of a secret that only two men keep—the only way out was if that number dropped to one. I didn’t hate Dan. I didn’t hate Antero Energy or their damn payments. Hell, I didn’t hate anybody or anything but myself. But a cornered cat will fight.
John knelt from the front porch and slowly laid the doormat back over his contraption. “That’ll do the trick.”
“Alright,” I said.
“No going back now, Vic.”
“Understood.”
He wiped his hands on his jeans and held one out to me. “I know you’re good for the back half of the payment. Get it to me by the end of the month. I’m not going to come break kneecaps when I’ve got this much skin in the game.”
“I’ll pay every penny.”
John walked back towards his junker of a car, and I followed. Worst-case scenarios raced through my mind. “What if he comes through the back?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“You said the rig is under the front door mat. Once he steps on that—well, what if he takes another path?”
“Eventually, the man’s going to step out the front door. Stay patient. And stay far away.”
“Right.”
“Keep your ear to the ground—this type of blast, it’ll sound like thunder in the distance from your house. Anybody else live within earshot of here?”
“My old place is about a mile down the road, but I couldn’t hear shit back there. Trees were too thick. Only sounds that made it through were the howls of coyotes. Plus, Sara drove off a while back, so we’re clear.”
“Right.”
“Thanks John,” I said. “I owe you one.”
“Nah, you owe me ten grand. But I’ll be seeing you.”
John’s car sputtered down the road, and the forest went silent. I stood beside my truck and traced through every next step. Dan would be dead. The small world he kept would be sad, if only for a little while, then life would move on. Somebody, maybe his step-brother in Tulsa, would get a letter from Antero Energy and they’d stumble into a windfall. The land would be theirs and, depending on how quickly they dig, somebody would find the body of Reece Thompkins. The half-wit sheriff would look for the simplest math possible and quickly tie Dan to the murder. My hands would emerge clean and I could finally get some damn sleep.
I took one last look back at the house and then made my way down the long driveway. The mailbox was still on the ground. I cranked the radio loud, thinking maybe a little slide guitar would drown out the worry in my mind. I turned left and made it two hundred feet before sweat dripped down my forehead.
A half mile later, I passed a red car as I left the gravel roads and lurched onto the pavement. As my tires hit the concrete, I jumped on the brake. I knew that damn car. Sara.
I cranked the wheel, my front tire falling into the shoulder and then back onto the gravel. I drove faster than ever before, although I already knew what was waiting for me at the end.
John was right. The boom did sound a lot like thunder.
Benjamin Bradley is an active member of the Mystery Writers of America as well as a graduate of the Gotham Writers Workshop and the Red Bud Writing Project. He’s the author of the Shepard & Kelly Mystery series through Indies United Publishing House. By day, Benjamin supports homelessness organizations nationally on embedding healthcare for our country’s most vulnerable populations from his home in Raleigh, North Carolina. Learn more on his website: Benjaminbradleywrites.com
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