AS BOOKER AND Chenco prepared to head to South Padre, thinking of what the performance might bring, Steve could already see their future.
Everyone liked Chenco and wanted him to live out his dream. Ethan and Randy had the means to see he at least got a decent shot at receiving it. One way or another the guys would make sure Chenco soon left the valley. If Steve wanted to go along, which he did, he had some housecleaning to do.
He’d dragged his feet over telling Crabtree about Gordy, but after the intense scene with Chenco he gave in and took the older man to the cannery. Steve had let Brett and Randy take care of repairing the damaged cameras, getting Gordy to take his meds, bringing him at least one decent meal a day. It was strange to be back, and Steve felt self-conscious.
He had to do this, though, if he wanted out. Parked in the deserted, weed-riddled lot, Steve stared at the rim of his steering wheel. “I grew up here. My parents ran the orchards and the cannery the same as my dad’s parents had and their parents before. Since there have been orchards in the Rio Grande Valley, my family has been here, growing citrus.”
“Yes,” Crabtree agreed, speaking as one who clearly knew this fact.
Steve remembered what Randy had said about Crabtree liking to look into people’s history. He glanced across the seat, wondering how much of this story he needed to bother telling.
Crabtree read his silent question with a quirk of his lips. “One can learn as much from the way the tale is told as one can from the facts themselves. Please continue.”
Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyeing his packet of tobacco on the dash. He thought about asking if Crabtree would mind if he smoked, remembered the heart attack and changed his mind.
“Gordy and I knew each other from grade school. His parents both worked for us—mom the receptionist at the cannery, dad a driver. We were friends through high school too. After the freeze, though, things got rough—I went to college, the cannery closed. I left school and went to Desert Storm, then went back to Stanford. Didn’t go local. I should have. I only saw him on breaks, and not then, not always.”
Crabtree snorted. “You were at a prestigious institution making top grades. You had job offers before you left for the Army. The idea that you should have been in McAllen in case something might have happened to your friend is foolish, and you know it.”
“We were friends. He thought we were lovers. My being gone so long made him think I’d abandoned him.”
This excuse only made Crabtree wave a dismissive hand.
Steve swallowed against the rawness of his throat. “I heard about it through my sister, from one of her friends from the valley. How he couldn’t hold a job. How he was ‘messed up in sex’, as she put it. We’d been playing casually before I left, so I knew she meant BDSM, but I didn’t yet get it was bad shit until I came through again.”
He shut his eyes, remembering.
“It was bad. He’d been caged, beat, passed around like a fucking toy. True cruelty, taking advantage of his loneliness and vulnerability and…well, they ruined him. And it was all because I left him. So I moved back here. I tried to undo some of their shit, and for a while it was almost okay. But he wanted me to be his boyfriend, and I couldn’t. One day I couldn’t find him. I searched and searched, but it was a friend who found him by accident at the hospital. There was Gordy, beat to a piece of meat. The tats were the only reason Brett knew him.”
Steve still stared at the cannery, but his gaze was unfocused now, lost to memory. “He wouldn’t move in with me. He went to the cannery on his own—I’d been about to sell it to a developer, but once Gordy moved in, I pulled out of the deal. I’ve set up surveillance so I can keep an eye on him, make sure nobody hurts him, make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Brett wants me to commit him—he’s on enough meds to fell a horse, when we can get him to take them. I can’t turn him in, though. They wouldn’t understand him. He wants scenes, punishment, play—they’d tell him it was bad, and I can’t stand the idea of anybody else telling him he’s wrong.”
He watched Crabtree, but the old man gave away nothing, only stared hard at Steve, as if his gaze could peel away layers of skin.
Finally, Crabtree spoke. “What is it you want from me? I assume you want advice, or help, or possibly some kind of miracle, which I’d argue you’d know better than to hope for, but I can see Gordy isn’t the only one unhealthy in this relationship.”
“I know I have work to do on myself. I’m trying.” You think I’m fucked up, try looking in a mirror. Steve stiffened and looked away. “Randy said you could help, but if this is too much, I won’t blame you.”
Crabtree sighed and put his hand on the door of the truck. “Children. You’re all children. Come now, boy. Let’s go see what kind of mess you have for me.”
They went into the cannery together, Steve slowing his steps to match Crabtree’s halting gait. The cane seemed more accessory than tool while they were in the parking lot, but once they were inside the building, the older man needed it with every step to navigate around the rubble. It took everything in Steve not to reach out and steady him.
Crabtree cast him an impatient glance. “I’m man enough to clean up after you, but not to walk across an uneven floor?” He aimed his cane at a closed door. “I assume he’s in there?”
“Yes, sir.” Steve didn’t anticipate this meeting would be a good one. “I think—”
“Knock on the door, announce us, and then get the hell out of my way.”
Gordy didn’t answer when Steve called out, not even when he knocked a second time and called out louder. Before he could knock again, Crabtree shoved him neatly aside with the point of his cane and turned the doorknob.
“Gordon Weste?” Crabtree called out, swinging the door wide.
In the deep shadows, a nest of newspaper moved.
Crabtree’s expression flickered before settling into his impassive, determined countenance. “I won’t stand here all day waiting for a little brat. You have until the count of three to come out, or I’m coming in after you. One, two—”
Gordy’s head popped out of the newspaper. He regarded the gangster warily. “Who are you?”
“I am the man who will master you, which is what I have heard you want, but watching you sit there thinking you’re interviewing me, I’m not sure you’re worthy. I’m thinking I’m wasting my time.”
As Crabtree turned around, Gordy leaped forward. “No. No—please. Sir. Wait.”
“Wait for you? Why on earth would I do that?”
Gordy’s gaze flickered to Steve, but Steve had nothing to give him. A dim part of him understood what Crabtree was doing. Mostly, though, Steve felt lost and panicked and ready to bolt.
When Steve hesitated, Gordy drew back. “You’re giving me away?”
Guilt lay Steve low, but before he could speak, Crabtree murmured in irritation under his breath and dug into his pocket. “Here, boy.”
He held out a dog biscuit.
Crabtree called again—his voice had changed subtly, full of rich command and entreaty, so much so something in Steve curled up and longed to be petted. Crabtree kept calling out, his tone eager but patient, as if he could stand there all day and call a puppy. It was intoxicating, his patience, and it filled the crumbling room, mesmerizing Steve and Gordy both.
Eventually it also brought Gordy out of his nest. His gaze darted between Steve and Crabtree before settling on the gangster. Crabtree continued to encourage him, and when Gordy made it all the way to his feet, Crabtree praised him and handed over the biscuit. Gordy accepted it with joy, gobbling it down, still uncertain but clearly longing to rub his face along Crabtree’s leg.
Crabtree raised an eyebrow at him. “No, no rubs, no pets. Not until you’ve earned them. I don’t play with puppies until I know they can behave.”
Gordy looked as if he longed to bark, clearly loving the treat. It was beyond any play Steve had ever witnessed, and he’d seen plenty. Neither Crabtree nor Gordy shared Steve’s revulsion. In fact, Gordy’s eagerness to please Crabtree boiled over, but something about Crabtree kept him in check. He didn’t bark.
He did glance at Steve, however, and when he saw Steve’s face, he snarled. He swore at Steve, grabbing loose garbage and small clumps of crumbled concrete from the floor and tossing them across the room.
The cane moved so fast Steve jumped—it thwacked Gordy on the side of his knee before returning to its original position. “Puppies do not speak unless they have permission, and they certainly don’t throw things. You are a bad dog who needs to be disciplined, and if you’re lucky, I’ll stay to give you the punishment you deserve. Otherwise I will leave you here to rot alone, filthy and stinking and sulking in your pile of garbage. Do you understand, boy? Do you understand if you break the rules with me, if you don’t show me right now you deserve my attention, I’ll leave you and not look back? Speak once if you understand. Otherwise please continue with your tantrum, and I’ll be on my way.”
Gordy whined in the back of his throat and lowered his head. He barked once, soft and sorrowful.
Crabtree’s posture eased, but only a little. “Very good, puppy. Now. Would you like to play with me awhile? Speak again, if it’s what you want.”
If Gordy had a real tail, it would have been wagging. Lifting his head, he barked, only once, and beamed at the gangster.
“Very good. Perhaps you aren’t as bad a puppy as I thought.” Crabtree favored Gordy with a brief smile then glanced over his shoulder at Steve. “You may go.”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“Leave. I’ll take the keys to your vehicle, as I’m not yet certain when I’ll be finished. If I need anything, I’ll call Ethan.”
Steve didn’t move. While this was what he’d wanted, Crabtree taking control, now Steve wasn’t so sure it was the best thing. He opened his mouth to voice his reservations.
Crabtree looked him dead in the eye.
Any doubts Steve had harbored over whether or not Crabtree had been a killer, a ruthless mobster, died in the glance. At the same time, though, he saw why Ethan and Randy trusted him, why though Mitch didn’t like him, he had faith in him too. Steve saw Crabtree the man, the lines he had crossed and the ones he never would.
Steve realized how much he’d failed Gordy, not being this wall or finding safety for his friend sooner. His gut knotted so hard he hunched forward a little. He wasn’t forty-one, he was fourteen, realizing how far his life choices would echo, knowing he’d accidentally hurt the ones he loved.
Crabtree’s expression gentled. “It’s all right. He’ll be fine, and so will you. You’ve done the right thing. I know what I’m doing here much better than you imagine. Better yet, go ask Randy about my history. If I know my boy, he’s had this in mind from the minute he found out Gordy existed.”
That actually did sound like Randy. It gave Steve some ease, but it was still hard to head out into the parking lot. He stood in the empty center for a long time, thinking.
Eventually he started back to the ranch, the past closing behind him as a strange, uncertain future expanded exponentially ahead.