you he’s a lying sack of shit.”
“No, he didn’t say that. We know he was the assistant manager here. At least that’s what he told the drug rehab people on the intake form.”
“He was the assistant manager. But that was only because I’m the manager and he was my only employee. He worked when I didn’t and vice versa. I can’t afford two people here at the same time, except on Fridays during football. Then me and Clément would work together. Place is open till two in the mornings on the weekends. During the week we open at six, close at ten. We’d split the shifts. Sometimes I’d do the mornings and then nights. Same for him.”
“How long was he here?”
“About two years, I guess. Then he just stopped coming in. I mean, I kept his sorry ass on even after he stole from me, and look what that got me. Nothing. So I had to hire somebody else. Still have his last paycheck. But I deducted the cost of the crap he stole, including the Ho Hos.” He paused. “Wait a minute. Why don’t you just ask Clément about what he saw?”
“We’d love to. But he left rehab and then disappeared.”
“Huh. That’s strange. I always figured he’d come back here at least for his paycheck.”
“Where did he live?”
“Well, sometimes he lived in the back room here on a cot. Other times there was a place about five miles from here off the main road. A house.”
“Was it his house?”
“Shit, Clément never owned no house. He owned a piece-of-crap Datsun pickup that was older than he was. It was held together with duct tape and a Lord’s Prayer a day.”
“So whose house?”
“Some chick, I think. Give me a sec.” He scratched his chin and said, “Beverly something. Clément held an attraction to certain ladies. Till they realized he was a no-good SOB looking to take what he wanted, and then they’d kick him out.”
“Can you give us the address?” asked Robie.
Sonny did so, writing it down on a piece of paper after consulting a record book under the counter. “He had to give me the address for payroll purposes. Don’t know if he was living there when he stopped coming to work, but it’s the only address I got for him.”
He pulled a slip of paper from a file behind the counter and held it out to Reel.
“This is his last paycheck. If you see him, give it to him. He earned it.”
“I hope we can,” said Reel, taking the check.
They left the store while Sonny watched them from the door. Then they climbed into the truck and Robie started it up.
“You think he’s on the up-and-up?” Reel asked.
“I assume guilty until proven otherwise. It just seems smarter in our line of work.” He glanced at the check. “How much is it for?”
She looked at the slip of paper. “Two hundred bucks and change.”
“You think that’s for a full week’s work?”
Reel studied the pay stub attached to the check. “That’s what it says. Why?”
“That’s about ten grand a year.”
“Yeah. Some American dream.”
“Right. I’d be pissed off, too.”
As they pulled down the road Robie said, “You know you said the skinheads would be coming for us?”
“Yeah?”
He pointed behind them. “Well, you were right.” He punched the gas.
Chapter
30
REEL TURNED TO see three pickup trucks behind them. There were three men in the cabs of each along with four men in the cargo holds.
She closed her eyes, and something popped into her head.
When Reel reopened her eyes, she was back in Iraq.
Robie glanced over at her then took a look in the rearview. “They’re gaining. You want to do something about that?”
When she didn’t respond, Robie said, “Jess?”
She blinked rapidly and shivered, like someone had dropped a bucket of ice on her head.
“Jess? You okay?”
Reel turned and looked at the men and the trucks again. In her mind’s eye the skinheads turned darker and beards appeared on the fronts of their faces. They wore robes and head coverings. And in the bed of each truck was a .50-cal machine gun that was pointed directly at them.
“No, I’m not.”
Robie gave her a searching glance. “Okay, slide over and take the wheel.”
“What?” she said, her features confused.
“Take the wheel and just keep us pointed straight. I got this.”
She undid her seat harness, as did Robie.
He had put the truck on cruise control, so his foot wasn’t even on the gas.
“You go over, I’ll go under,” said Robie.
She put her hands on the wheel just as he let go.
The first shots fired from their pursuers impacted the rear glass of the Yukon, shattering it.
Reel stopped moving and ducked down.
“Come on, Jess, move your ass. Things are getting tight.”
She regrouped and kept sliding, arching her back and legs in a yoga-like move to allow Robie to pass by underneath her. He slid into the passenger seat just as her butt hit the driver’s-side seat and she focused on the road up ahead.
Robie slid over the front seat into the back. Staying low, he took out Reel’s rifle and loaded it blind, keeping his gaze on the truck coming for them.
“They’re getting ready to fire again,” he warned. He glanced nervously back at Reel, hoping that whatever had gripped her wouldn’t prevent her from keeping the truck on the road when the incoming fire occurred. “You can do this, Jess. I know you can do it and so do you.”
The men in the truck beds opened fire, and Robie kept flattened in the back of the Yukon until the stream of bullets had passed.
The truck was holding straight and true, so Robie set up the rifle, took his sighting through the scope, and did what the idiots behind them should have already done.
He took out the front tires of the lead truck with two quick trigger pulls.
A vehicle moving that fast over uneven roads and losing its two front tires was not something that was going to end well.
Robie watched as the truck swerved to the right. The driver committed the cardinal error that had doomed so many others in the age of automobiles.
He overcorrected.
This sent the truck veering off at a sharp angle to the left. The tires left the asphalt, and then the point of no return had been reached.
The tires hit a soft spot in the dirt, dug in, and held.
And the truck flipped bow to aft. The men in the back were hurled out of the space, screaming and their limbs flailing, their guns falling from their grips, because they wouldn’t be needing them anymore. They wouldn’t be needing anything anymore.
They hit the dirt, rolled, and hit again.
The engine caught fire simultaneously with the cracked gas tank’s vapor being released.
“It’s going to blow,” called out Robie to Reel.
And a second later the truck became a blast furnace, cremating the men still inside.
An errant shot popped out of the cab as superheated ammo went off without the aid of a finger pulling a trigger.
“Keep it steady, Jess.”
There were two more trucks back there.
As Robie lined up his sights on the next truck, the skinheads finally wised up.
First the left rear tire was hit and then the right. The Yukon started to shake violently.
“Hold it steady, Jess,” called out Robie.