“Will you have trouble finding your way back to the shack?”
“I made note of things along the way. With my one good eye,” she added with a scowl aimed at Ernie.
“Irv and I are counting on you to make yourself useful. Do you think you can do that without picking silly fights with him?”
Corrine looked over at Ernie as he dipped the stir-stick into the barrel. “One thing I can do is put some meat on his bones,” she said. “I never saw a man who needed feedin’ more’n him.”
* * *
When Laurel came upon the road sign, she slowed down then rolled to a full stop. She stared at the sign’s uneven, hand-painted lettering, which was familiar because she’d passed it many times before. But the sign now had new, and more personal, significance.
She calculated how long she’d been away from the house, leaving her infirm father-in-law alone. She thought about the deal he had failed to cement with Lefty before the raid. She thought about Corrine and the abuse she’d suffered.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she made the turn. Earlier today, she’d been told she had sass. This would be a test of just how much.
The road was as corrugated as a washboard. Her tires kicked up dust as fine and white as talcum powder. It swirled around the Model T when she brought it to a stop. As the dust settled, she studied the uninviting structure. It looked deserted.
She hesitated, thinking that perhaps this wasn’t a good idea at all. She patted her pocket and, after feeling the reassuring weight of the Derringer, pushed open the car door and got out.
Warped steps led up to an equally uneven porch. The heels of her shoes tapped loudly on the planks and echoed in the crawl space beneath. The screen on the outer door was rusty and jaggedly torn in places, as though someone had taken a dull can opener to it. The wooden frame supporting it was splintery. It slapped against the solid door behind it when she knocked.
She heard muffled voices from within, and then a thudding tread as someone came to answer.
The individual who opened the door had to be Gert, because she was the female counterpart of an ogre. A cigarette was anchored in the corner of her lips, the smoke from it curling up around her face. She squinted against it, making her eyes appear even more hostile.
“We’re closed.”
“Not closed. Shut down.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“To discuss business with Lefty.”
Gert took away the cigarette and barked a sound that was half laugh, half phlegmy cough. “I think your business is with me. You must’ve heard about the girl I lost to the raid. You figuring on taking her place?” She looked Laurel up and down. “There’s men who don’t mind small ones. What’s your name?”
“Laurel.”
“Pretty.”
“Plummer. And my business isn’t with you. It’s with your husband. Is he here? Or in jail?”
“I’m here.” A stick figure of a man materialized out of the dark and murky interior. “Plummer, you say? Kin to Irv?”
“His daughter-in-law.”
“Huh. Heard your husband blew his brains out.”
Laurel ignored Gert’s cruel remark and focused on Lefty. “May I have a moment of your time?”
“What for?”
“It would be in your best interest.”
Gert repeated the statement, mimicking the modulation of Laurel’s voice. “Who do you think you are, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”
“Back off, Gert.” Reaching past her, Lefty pushed open the screen door. “Come on in, but I already told Irv no deal.”
“That’s not what Irv told me,” Laurel said as she stepped inside. “One of you is lying.” She gave the hatchet-faced man an arch look. “I suspect it’s you.”