Читать книгу South Texas Tangle - T.K. O'Neill - Страница 12

Sam had a pain in his solar plexus. Ulcers. Had to be goddamn ulcers. Or those dry-roasted peanuts on the plane looked like year-old rabbit turds—could be them. Sam was never quite sure what caused his discomfort, was struggling to learn, and only knew that his gut hurt. But things were beginning to feel manageable again, the pill finally kicking in and dulling his senses enough to keep going. And going he was, up the highway in the black Escalade Bob Ryan ordered, the man insisting Sam cover the bill—according to Frankie—on the most expensive vehicle at the rental agency. Sam and Frankie were on their way to the place this Trooper Henning called home, evidently to check the driveway for new BMWs and see if the man was lighting cigars with hundred dollar bills. That old familiar discomfort was lying in Sam’s lower-left abdominal region like a ball of lead as Neelan steered the Escalade northward along I-37 past scenery right out of the old western movies Sam liked to watch on cable TV on nights he couldn’t sleep. Roy Rogers and Tom Mix and, of course, America’s favorite son John Wayne, might have ridden a horse across this very land or someplace just like it, all of it looking the same to Sam as his mind churned nonstop trying to find a way to free himself from this vastly unpleasant mess.

Sam glanced over at Neelan, the mick’s jaw working overtime on a wad of gum, prick’s long thick neck a sizeable target for a sharp object jammed into the jugular vein. Sam didn’t happen to have a sharp object handy but was looking around, trying to think of something, knowing he could wait until they stopped and then take the redheaded dick out before he knew what hit him. Been a long time since Sam killed anyone. But he kept telling himself he could do it again if he had to, flashing back to the surprised looks on those two treacherous Puerto Ricans that tried to rob him on the streets of New York the very first day he landed in America. Snaky bastards’ arrogant expressions had certainly changed, watching their blood pouring down on the New York sidewalk.

Now Frankie the cretin was turning the Escalade off the highway and bending around the exit road in the direction of an abandoned gas station. Frankie drove behind the station, came around the other side and parked facing the freeway, Sam thinking the economy must indeed be bad if a gas station in Texas went bust. Neelan shut down the engine but kept the radio on blasting out the relentless electronic dog shit he was so goddamn fond of. Headache music. Record scratching, idiot DJs making tons of money so kids can lose themselves in a writhing mass of thoughtless group expression: one mind—five thousand bodies. This dog shit orchestrated by record spinners with ridiculous one-word names brought to mind household cleaning products or machine parts—Italian shoes, perhaps.

Sam watched Frankie get out of the Escalade, stretch his arms to the vast cloud-dotted sky and then go back and open the rear door of the expensive SUV. After lifting out the leather satchel he’d picked up at the hotel desk when they arrived, package coming courtesy of Federal Express, Frankie returned to the front seat, unzipped the bag and brought out a pair of new-looking binoculars. “See these beauties, Sammy? Bob bought ’em for me, man. Nikon Security Binoculars—ten by fifty—whatever the hell that means. Bring the distance in close, they do. You can see the sweat on a sunbather’s ninnies from half a kilometer.”

“Must be a turn-on for you,” Sam said. “Bob seems to spare no expense when it comes to you.”

“You got that right. Sometimes I think the man’s a bit of a poofter, y’know? Got a thing for handsome studs like meself. But don’t tell ’im I said that.”

“I never tell anyone anything, Frankie.”

“Good Sam, that’s the way ya need to be. See that ya stay that way and I might return the favor one day.”

“Meaning what?”

“Just that Bob might not be as understanding as I am when it comes to yer trusted man Jimmy. Bob might conclude that the two a ya got no redeeming social value at all and need to be eliminated. And should that terrible duty fall upon my broad shoulders, Sambo, I promise ya I’ll make it as fast and painless as I know how.” Neelan’s lips were turned up in a smirk

Sam shot him a quick stare trying to determine Frankie’s level of seriousness, concluded he couldn’t read the man and shrugged it off. “Very kind of you, Frankie,” Sam said, “I’m sure your kindness will be rewarded.”

Hopefully in the afterlife, you cocksucker.

Then they both set their eyes across the four-lane towards a doublewide mobile home nestled down inside a low spot encircled by trees. Sam couldn’t see much. When the wind pushed the trees he’d catch a glimpse of the dwelling and the clearing in front. Then he saw a beige car exiting the northbound lane of the highway. He watched it swing around the overpass and head toward the trooper’s place, plumes of dust billowing behind it. The vehicle turned up the drive and passed through the grove of trees around the mobile home, momentarily disappearing from Sam’s view.

A moment later Neelan was lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. “Hallo,” he said. “What have we ’ere?” He paused, grinning, looking over at Sam before putting the glasses back to his eyes. “Got ourselves an American beauty, Sammy. She just went inside the caravan. Maybe we should go over and provide formal introductions.”

“Not a good idea, Frankie. A member of law enforcement lives there, in case you forgot.”

“But he don’t seem to be at home presently, Sam. And I’m thinking the lady might be feeling forlorn out here on the lone prairie, perhaps needing the companionship of an Irish sex machine.”

If there was such a thing, Sam thought.

“Ryan, authorize you to make contact?”

“Bob lets me make my own decisions, being I’m a grown man and his most trusted employee. Just like yer little boy Jimmy—only smarter.”

“At least Jimmy has better taste in music,” Sam said. “Doesn’t like these electronic camel farts.” Gesturing at the radio.

“Ya mean ya don’t like Skrillex? Avicii? Diplo? Yer just too fookin’ old, Sam, And what’s Jimmy’s taste then? The fookin’ Beatles or some other fookin’ dead band? This stuff is the cutting edge, Sambo. Up to date. What’s happening in Europe and the rest of the world.”

Ignorant mick saying fookin’ instead of fuckin’, but not all the time.

Curious.

“This isn’t the rest of the world,” Sam said. “It’s Texas.”

“And the Texans are playin’ the real shite. Have yourself a good listen, Sam.” Frankie turned up the radio, gave Sam a toothy, crooked grin and put the binoculars back to his eyes. “Got a nice set of buns on her, Sammy, whattaya say we roll on over and see what she smells like? Bet it’s sweet, like flowers and new-mown grass.”

Sam got a shot of electricity from his asshole to his toes as Neelan twisted the ignition and put the SUV in gear.

Cyn was kicking herself the entire drive out here. Feeling—well, she didn’t know quite what she was feeling. Whether it was embarrassment or regret—or disappointment for letting her resolve cave in so soon. But she missed Danny too much to pretend otherwise. And when it came to their son she didn’t trust her husband that much. Face it, Dan knew about drug traffickers and car thieves, illegal immigrants and night missions in Iraq, but when it came to kids he was kind of an ignoramus. Ignoramus was once one of her favorite words, Cyn and her middle-school friends in Minnesota applying the label to some of the boys in their class. Most of them, really. But after moving to Texas she found it applicable to so many she had to search for new options, settling on Neanderthal to describe the core group of males in the region, not missing the irony now that she had succumbed to the charms and physicality of a man befitting the title.

That’s what youth and a hot box will get you, she thought, inserting her key in the trailer door.

It was obvious the big Neanderthal and his young son were not at home. Breakfast dishes in the sink, unwashed. Typical. A quick assessment of the toy barrel told her they’d gone to the beach, Danny’s pail and shovel, dump truck and inflatable beach ball, missing. And there was Dan’s whiskey bottle in plain sight on the counter, big Neanderthal obviously adapting quickly to her absence.

A tiny thread of anxiety wriggled in her chest. The desire to see her son and make sure he was all right growing stronger by the second. She’d read some articles about attachment parenting, believed it was something good but wondered if it was too late to start since Danny had already begun occasional visits to daycare. She also believed her husband would dismiss the concept as more of her “hippie-dippy bullshit,” another example of Dan’s lack of understanding. Cyn believed she was as far removed from a hippie as was possible.

So she’d go looking for them. Grab a few more things from her dresser and drive down to the beach. She was pretty sure they’d be at the public area in Port Aransas, Danny always craving a Whataburger after swimming.

There—she made a decision. That was better.

The sand fleas were stirring again as Sam watched the lanky Irish soccer hooligan’s thick white calves going up the steps of the mobile home, the goon’s wide shoulders and ripped arms accentuated by a tight green t-shirt with Ireland across the back. Sam had warned against this confrontation but Frankie’d paid him no mind, saying that someone living in a tin can might find the temptation of a million dollars too much to resist.

So there actually are thoughts inside that battering ram head, Sam was thinking as he washed down one of his last precious pills with some lukewarm bottled water, trying to recall what it was they said about water in plastic bottles. Was it the warmer they got the more of the plastic got into your system or the opposite? This gave him a sensation like ants crawling in his shorts, Sam hating the whole culture of plastic everything that was taking over the world. But what could he do except go along with it? You just had to ride the rabid camel.

Now Frankie was up knocking on the door of the mobile home, Sam hoping the asshole wouldn’t get any more twisted ideas about the girl and her “nice pair of buns.”

Cynthia heard the strong knock on the door and wondered who the heck it could be. Visitors to her home were infrequent. She’d seen the SUV coming up the drive—dust followed everything around here—but the only ones that usually came were family. Or possibly delivery guys. Dan’s trooper buddies preferred town bars in Mathis or Corpus or Sinton for their alleged bonding sessions. And ever since Dan’s people moved back east to Ohio, visitations out here were down to nearly nothing, Cynthia’s side of the family preferring her to visit them, her parents seemingly thinking the trailer was somehow below them, but not saying it.

With anxiety tapping in her solar plexus Cyn peeled back an edge of the curtain and looked sideways through the front window at a tall man with a big square head, red hair and a somewhat charming smile. He was a cute one, whatever or whoever he was—and the black SUV he came in was an awfully expensive vehicle. Cyn thought the squatty gray-bearded man waiting in the front seat resembled a teddy bear with issues, smiling to herself at the thought.

But what the heck did these two want?

Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the door.

“Evenin’, ma’am,” the tall redhead said with a foreign accent. “My name is Leo Green and I represent the Sundowner Awning Company. We are looking for homeowners willing to accept a generous discount on our product in exchange for testimonials and pictures in our catalog.”

The grin on the big guy was certainly infectious. Heat rose to Cyn’s cheeks. What was that accent? English? Not quite. Aussie? Maybe. Strange how an accent got you going.

Cyn said, “An awning would be perfect here. I’ve been wanting one for years but we could never afford it.” She looked in the redhead’s green eyes and felt uncomfortable. “So, um… what did you say were the terms of the offer?”

“Would the man of the house be at home today, ma’am?”

A silent alarm sounded in the back of Cyn’s head. She was about to say No but caught herself. Crossing her arms on her chest, she said, “I’m expecting him any minute. If you see a highway patrol car coming in, that would be him.” She watched for the redhead’s reaction but the guy seemed indifferent to the possibility of law enforcement arriving.

“Would ya like us to wait for yer man to arrive or do ya have the power to make such decisions yerself, ma’am?”

“Well, I certainly have the power. But I would like to confer with my husband. There might be some restrictions on what a state trooper can do as far as product endorsement, you understand.”

“Certainly, ma’am. My partner and I can surely wait until yer husband arrives.”

“I’m afraid that won’t work, either. I have to leave. I have an appointment in Corpus Christi and I need to leave in five minutes. You’ll have to come back another time, I’m afraid. Do you have a business card?

“Seems I’m fresh out of cards today, ma’am,” the redhead said, his eyes roving quickly up and down her body. “Would there be a better time to call? One where both you and the hubby might likely be home? We could call in advance. I just need your phone number.”

Cyn was getting apprehensive, maybe a little creeped. But she didn’t want to be impolite. “Earlier in the day is better—on a weekday. If you’re in the area, look to see if my husband’s truck and my Toyota are both here,” pointing at the Camry. “That’s a good sign we’re at home.”

“Indeed it is, ma’am. And thank you for your time. You’ll be hearing from us, I can promise ya that. And have a wonderful rest of the day.”

“Okay… thank you,” Cynthia closed the trailer door and slid the bolt across, still nervous but scolding herself for it. She was oddly fascinated by the variety of feelings she was experiencing and told herself to stop being silly. But there was no denying it, her future seemed to be unfolding in front of her like a long dark road to somewhere unknown. A concept she would have found foreign just a few days ago. She felt a touch of excitement sticking to the edge of things. And yes, she was a little afraid, maybe apprehensive was a better word, but still, she felt calm. Apprehensive and calm at the same time—it was neat.

She watched the black SUV driving out of her yard. She waited for the dust clouds to settle before gathering up her things.