Unbeautiful (Unbeautiful 1)

Thanks. I feel like you just saved my life. I should pay you or something.

He chuckles as he reads what I wrote. “Nah, kid, I like helping you.” His gaze sweeps the table, and then he lowers his voice. “You’re one of the few left here who are still good.”

His voice conveys an underlying meaning, but I’m not positive what that is. I never get the chance to ask him, either, because moments later, Doc enters the room with a duffel bag in his hand.

Everyone falls silent.

“We have big plans tonight, gentleman.” He drops the bag on the floor, slips off his jacket, and rolls up his sleeves. “Big, big plans.”

Doc is an average height and weight, middle-aged man who dresses in fancy suits, unlike most of Elderman’s men. His wealth and manner of air shows he’s much higher up on the food chain than someone like me and Big Tim. Everyone respects Doc, too, or at least fears him enough not to question anything he says or does. I’m not certain yet. I haven’t seen Doc do anything like Marellie, but I’ve heard rumors about some of the stuff he’s done for business. He treats me decent, though, so for now, I’m not going to look too much into his darker side.

Once Doc gets his sleeves rolled up, he faces Big Tim. “I need you to take Morless and Wenley and unload the truck.”

Big Tim nods then motions at Morless who’s sitting at the end of the table. “Let’s go. We got truck duty.”

Morless gets up from the table and follows Big Tim out of the room without asking questions. Five people remain in the room, including Doc and me.

“As for the rest of you,” Doc says to the remaining men. “Elderman needs you at the warehouse ASAP.”

My heart rate accelerates. I haven’t been to the warehouse in Wyoming yet, so it could possibly be the one. But I don’t let myself get too hopeful as I rise from my chair; I’ve already been to seven locations and all were busts.

“Except for you, Ryler,” Doc says to me. “You’re with me tonight.”

Usually, he just sends me with Big Tim or Wenley to make a drop to one of the smaller dealers. I never go with Doc directly, mainly because he is higher up on the chain of command. So either I’m moving up in the world, or I’m in trouble.

Both outcomes unsettle my stomach, and the nausea grows when Doc removes a gun from his holster and places it on the table in front of me.

“You’re going to need this tonight.” He offers me an encouraging smile, as if it will somehow lessen my tension. “Do you know how to use one?”

I cock the gun. Unfortunately, I do.

His smile expands. “Good.” He grabs the other gun and checks the bullet count before tucking it back into the holster. “Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.”

I nod and start to tuck the gun into the back of my jeans.

He raises his hand. “Just a second.” He grabs a holster from the bag and chucks it to me.

I slip my arms through the holster and tuck the barrel into the pouch on the side. The weight of the gun is a painful reminder of how deep I’m getting into the drug trafficking world.

What if they want me to shoot someone tonight?

What if I have to shoot someone tonight?

What if I kill someone?

What if I get killed?

What if I’m getting set up to be killed?

Fuck. I really wish I could text Stale, but the move would be too risky right now.

Doc collects a black hoodie from the bag and tosses it to me. “Put this on over the holster.”

I obey, slipping my arms through the sleeves and zipping the jacket up.

He nods approvingly. “This is going to work, just as long as you don’t get too nervous.”

I hesitate then dare sign, “Can I ask what we’re doing?”

“I’m afraid, son, that telling you would take the fun out of all of this.” He grins then pats my shoulder as he heads toward the hallway. “Come on. We have a long night ahead of us.”

We leave the bar and climb into Doc’s 1968 Plymouth Barracuda. Then he drives through town and toward the freeway with the radio cranked up. Songs like “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads and “Folsom Prison Blues” by Johnny Cash flow through the stereo. I try not to put too much thought into his song choices, but it’s difficult. Even with the gun, I don’t feel safe. Besides, I don’t want to shoot anyone, don’t want blood on my hands.

After we veer up the on-ramp, we cruise north beneath the stars, away from Laramie and civilization, past fields of dry grass. The farther north we get, the more sparse cars become.

It feels like he’s purposefully taking us out to the middle of nowhere. All I can think is that I’ve been busted, that he’s driving me up to the foothills to shoot me between the eyes and bury me in the dirt.

I attempt to send a text out to Stale without actually having to remove my cell from my pocket, but I fumble with the buttons, pressing who the hell knows what, and finally give up after the tenth try.

Doc doesn’t utter a word to me until he turns onto the exit ramp and brakes at a stop sign. We’re out in the middle of nowhere with only fields and trees around us. He leaves the headlights on and the light beams across the road in front of us. Then he shuts off the music and stares out the window at the desolate street to the side of us.

“Have you heard the story of how I got into this business yet?” he asks, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me.

I shake my head.

“I’m surprised. As much as I respect the people I work with, they do love their gossip.” He muses over something, his attention on the road again. “I was twenty when I first met Donny Elderman. I had just recently married, and we were expecting our first child. I was working as a salesman at a local furniture store. Back then, I wasn’t known as Doc. I wasn’t known for anything, really.” He pauses, gazing up at the stars. “I wanted to be known, though. I’d always had this feeling that there was supposed to be more to life than a nine-to-five job, going home every night, eating dinner, then going to bed. Most days, I felt like I was on autopilot.”

He reaches for his pocket and grabs a cigar, lights up, and then reclines back in the seat. “Then I met Donny, and all of that changed. Life was exciting, and I found out I was good at what I do. Don’t misunderstand me. My family always comes first and foremost, but I truly believe that, in order to be a good father and husband, I have to be happy. Very rarely have I regretted the choice I made to come into this unorthodox world. In fact, there have only been three times in my life when I’ve really questioned my choice. Two happened a long time ago, right in the beginning, and one was tonight.” He puffs on the cigar, the cherry glowing through the darkness.

He remains silent for at least five minutes, smoking his cigar. He eventually turns on the radio again and browses through songs. I start to question where he’s going with the story or if that was the end of it when he sits up straight and rolls down the window.

“But I’ve changed over the last couple of decades. I know how to handle regret better.” He tosses the cigar out the window then shoves the car into first gear. “I’ve learned how to eliminate it. And you’re going to help me tonight.”

He cranks up the radio again, slams the gas pedal down, the tires spinning against the gravel as we peel out onto the stretch of road to the side of us. At first, I wonder if this is a suicide mission, if he’s going to drive across the road and ramp us off the hillside. But he cranes the wheel right at the last second to turn onto the road.

At that exact moment, another car comes barreling by, going at least a hundred miles an hour, kicking up a cloud

of dust. We skid in right behind the speeding vehicle, and Doc works the clutch and shifter simultaneously, ramping up RPMs to gain momentum swiftly. The engine roars to life as the radio screams heavy metal.

I grip the side of the seat as the car in front of us moves faster. Doc accelerates too, inching up right on the bumper. He moves one of his hands away from the steering wheel and reaches for the gun in his holster.

“Take the wheel, Ryler,” he says, his gaze locked on the car in front of us. When I gape at him, he glances at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just make sure not to let go.”

I already knew the guy was out of his goddamn mind, but this is taking crazy to a whole new level. Before I can think too much on the insanity, Doc releases the wheel, giving me no choice other than to reach over and grab it.