RED’S WHITE F-150 BLUES, by Scott Montgomery

Red Clark was sitting in his recliner, mellowing out with the help of Budweiser and Don Williams, when Billy Ray Bryant called and started the light rain that turned into a shit storm with a chance of fucked-for-life.

“I need a big favor, friend.” Leave it to Billy Ray, who took more favors than he gave, to toss in the chaos.

Red had just finished doing all the woman’s work Britney asked him to do, and he got Little Dale to take a nap with an hour to spare before Britney got home at her shift from the hospital and he’d have to listen to how her day was. He didn’t hold it against her; it just made him feel more and more like a wife since the plant took him down from full time to twenty hours. Only Don William’s deep, easy country voice could give him some peace of mind from the world.

“I need you to hide my truck for me. I’m behind a few months and Jerry’s after me.”

Jerry Coonts was a mechanic who had his own garage, one Red used to work at and planned to buy one time. The incompetent asshole made more cash as a bounty hunter for car dealerships.

“Can I bring it over to your place and hide it in the garage?”

Billy Ray hadn’t changed much in the fifteen years Red knew him. They had put together a stock car and entered it on dirt tracks, Billy Ray the driver, Red the mechanic. Billy Ray could always bring the girls and good times. It was when Red felt most free.

As always, good times come to an end. Billy Ray spun out into a crash that was something out of The Road Warrior. The bills to fix him took up all the money between them and then some. Another time bad luck killed a bright future.

Red could feel the aggravation hiding the car would lead to. “Bring it over in an hour.”

“I don’t want to get caught driving it.”

“I don’t want to argue with my wife, but it’ll be a shorter argument if it’s in before she gets home.”

“You’re just cold.”

“I’m just married.”

“I’ll be right over.” Billy Ray clicked off.

Red looked out the window at the gray world. It wasn’t too different indoors. He thought how the shit never ends.

He had no idea.

* * * *

Red pulled his dad’s old Ford out of the garage and Billy Ray pulled his F-150 right in. Red ran in and yanked the garage door down behind him.

Billy Ray jumped out of the truck. “Buddy, you got no idea what you’re doing for me, sure do appreciate it.”

Red headed toward the string for the ceiling bulb. “I got some.” He yanked down on the cord, illuminating the garage and the dust floating around it. The place smelled of grease, paint thinner, and stale ambitions. “How long you need me to keep it here?”

“Two weeks, tops.”

In Billy Ray speak that meant three months. Red had no idea why he needed a new pick- up when the economy was in the shit heap.

Billy Ray looked the truck over. “I have some things coming together.”

Red knew better than to ask. After he got fired from the plant, Billy Ray went to dealing weed. Got a three-month stay in County a year back. Hard luck drove many of Red’s friends to hard time.

Billy Ray looked more nervous than usual. “If I don’t come back for it in two, you can call the dealership and get the repo fee.”

That didn’t sound like Billy Ray.

Red shrugged. “Don’t worry.”

“Knew I could count on you.”

“Sorry this happened.”

“Got to take the bad times with the good.”

“Don’t remember the last good time I saw.”

Billy Ray tossed him the keys with a grin. “Sometimes you gotta make ’em.”

* * * *

Dinner was about as fun as Red expected it to be. After he drove Billy Ray to his place and came back with Little Dale sound asleep from riding in the Ford, he found Britney in her nursing scrubs, on low burn but getting hotter. She was pissed at work because they put her on a Saturday double shift, pissed to find he left the meatloaf in too long—not that she was a great cook either—and pissed that Little Dale was sleeping now, meaning it would be work to get him to bed later. Mainly she was pissed about the pick-up in the garage.

Red poured gravy over the meatloaf to moisten it some. “It’s just for two weeks.”

It was hard to tell if the expression on Britney’s face was from what he said or what he put on her plate. “You believe that?”

He shrugged. “Said we could turn it in to the dealership if he doesn’t pick it up by then.”

“Would you really do that?”

Red sat down. “Probably not.”

“And you don’t think he knows that?” Britney shook her head. “You’re too nice.”

“There’s worse things to be.”

“It lets people take advantage of you. You can’t even see your own worst enemy.”

He bit into his meatloaf. It tasted like a spiced up sponge.

Little Dale ran his fingers through his applesauce, smearing it on his face. They both went for him. Red backed off, let her clean him.

She wiped at their child’s fingers. “I don’t even know why you like him.”

“He’s fun.”

“He’s a drug dealer.”

“That we used to buy from.”

“We grew up.”

“That’s just because we had a kid.” Red picked up the remote, flipping on the news, hoping the sports would get her attention for a few minutes. Being on the St. Joseph softball team, she was more of the athlete. Was probably why she had so much stamina in their arguments.

“He’s going to get you in trouble.”

“I’m not knocking over 7-11s with him.”

It looked like Britney was going to scrub their son’s fingers off. “We’re accessories to a crime.”

“What crime?”

“Harboring an unpaid vehicle.”

“I’d like to see that statute.” Red watched a riot in some Middle East country thinking he’d be more comfortable there.

“My friends don’t do this to us.” Britney scooped up some applesauce with a plastic spoon and tried to get it into Little Dale’s mouth. “You’re not in high school or on the dirt tracks anymore.”

Red turned back around to the TV. They were covering a bank robbery in Ladue. It was nice to watch the rich folks get robbed. However, he lost his smile when the blond male-model reporter said, “Michael Finn, the bank’s security guard, died in a shootout outside the bank as the assailants drove away in a Crown Victoria. They were later spotted switching the vehicle with a white Ford F-150. If you have any information, please contact the Ladue police.”

They posted the number under Mr. Male Model.

Now Britney was watching.

* * * *

Their argument went for three hours, with a bathroom break and time to put Little Dale down, which took forever, which Britney reminded him was his fault.

She kept bitching at him to call the police. He told her there were a lot of white F-150s; she said it was too much of a coincidence. He said Billy Ray wasn’t a killer, she said he was a criminal and was pulling them into a crime.

“He’s no good,” she told him. “You need to get him out of our lives.”

This went on in a loop, over and over, carrying into the bedroom where they fought more than they had sex now.

Britney changed into her least sexy sweat suit. “I swear, your friends can’t even be good criminals. Have any of them come through when you had to depend on them?”

No moment came to mind. He pulled off his jeans. “What matters is I’m dependable.”

Britney huffed and turned away.

“What’s that about?”

She kept her eyes away from him. “Forget about it.”

“You were about to tell me I’m not dependable.”

“It just feels at times you’re more worried about being dependable for guys like Billy Ray than the three of us.” She tossed up their comforter and got into bed. “Forget it.”

Red just stood there. “We’ve always gotten through.”

“Been harder and harder and we’ve come close to losing it all. You don’t handle all the bills.” She pulled the comforter over her and stared up at the ceiling. “You just seem to do for a bunch who don’t do back.”

Then she looked at him. “What if you made Billy Ray do for us?”

Red didn’t ask what she meant. He was afraid he knew the answer. Then she had to state it plain. “Tell him you’ll hide the truck for part of the money.”

“Then we’d be criminals for sure.”

“Not the kind you see put in jail.”

“You willing to take that chance?”

“If Billy Ray makes it worth the risk. Think how much we could be out of our hole.”

Red did think. He also thought how this would stop the argument, then how it would stop their whole cycle of arguments about money and their life.

“How much should I ask for?”

* * * *

Britney thought twenty thousand was a fair number. Billy Ray didn’t.

“This isn’t like you at all, pal.” Billy Ray was rolling a joint at the kitchen table in his trailer.

“I never thought you’d get me involved in a bank robbery.” Actually, Red wasn’t too surprised about that.

Billy Ray twisted the end of the blunt. “It just kind of happened. Things were tight, I was really behind payments on the truck, and Tinker needed a wheelman and knew I used to race cars.”

“Are you telling me you robbed that bank with Tinker Davis?”

Billy Ray lit up with a nod.

Tinker Davis was the baddest bad guy in Wentzville. He already had done an armed robbery stretch and worked as enforcement for some of the meth crews around. Red once saw Tinker beat Mark Black with a tire iron because Mark made fun of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Billy Ray took a hit. “I don’t know if he’ll go for twenty.”

Red took a breath of courage. “That’s your problem, you got me into this.”

“I don’t have the money on me.”

“Well, get it.”

“I’m not bringing this up with Tinker by myself.” Billy Ray offered Red a toke.

Red took it. He knew he’d have to be high to do this.

* * * *

Tinker Davis had turned his folks’ three bedroom ranch into a shrine to Thirties pulp writer Robert E. Howard. He had the paperback collections from the Seventies with Conan, Kull, and Solomon Kane and the place was practically wallpapered with Frazetta posters, even one from the Conan movie signed by the director and Arnold himself. Little light, the smell of whiskey and sweat, and the hard metal vibrating through the place made it feel like a barbarian’s home. No wonder Mark got his ass kicked.

Tinker looked like one of the artist’s warriors himself. His long black hair was in a ponytail and he dressed in leather biker pants and vest that showed he spent most of his time in gyms and tattoo parlors. On his chest was a reproduction of a Frazetta cover with Conan standing over a pile of bodies with a sword sticking out of one. A prison job of the stars and bars was on his left shoulder; the right had a bowie knife crossed with a Navy Colt. Below the knuckles of his left hand, the letters L-I-F-E were printed across his fingers, which were wrapped around a Desert Eagle pistol. P-A-I-N was on his right fist knocking Billy Ray down onto the shag carpet.

Tinker put the pistol on Red while he grabbed a broadsword from the wall and swung it close to Billy Ray’s throat. “You told him I was your accomplice.”

“I had to. Red’s cool, though, he’s hiding the truck for us.”

“I’ll hide it for twenty thousand.” The gun made Red think about asking that much, but it wasn’t worth going through all this for anything less. He wished he’d brought along the shotgun he kept in the bedroom closet.

Tinker’s sword poked into Billy Ray’s neck a bit. “There some reason I shouldn’t kill the both of you right now?”

Red spoke up. “My wife?”

That got Tinker’s attention.

“If she doesn’t hear from me in twenty minutes, she calls the cops and tells them where the truck is and who used it.”

Tinker bared his teeth. “Whole town’s going to know before this is done.”

“It doesn’t have to go further than us for twenty thousand.”

Tinker looked at Red with a berserker glare. Red swore his asshole puckered.

The psycho looked him up and down. “Twenty thousand is a lot of money to do nothing.”

Since Red didn’t have much of a choice, he stood his ground. “I could do something, like drive it to the police station. Billy Ray gave me the keys.”

“It would have looked suspicious if I didn’t,” Billy Ray pleaded.

“Yeah, I see how you did a good job fooling him.”

Red felt more relaxed now that that Tinker’s focus was all on Billy Ray. “The TV said you guys took over a hundred thousand. That leaves at least forty thousand for each of you.”

“I would prefer fifty thousand.”

“Split it up any way.” Red felt like he had him. “Just better decide soon.”

Tinker stood there in contemplation, just like Schwarzenegger in Conan before he chopped James Earl Jones’ head off.

He put the Desert Eagle down. “Okay.”

Red and his asshole relaxed a lot more. He couldn’t believe he stared down a gun and got what he wanted. Been a while since he felt this much like a man.

Billy Ray got up. He put his hand over where the sword had cut into him. “So we’re all good?”

Tinker’s left hand joined his right around the sword hilt. “Still don’t have a reason to keep you breathing.”

Before Billy Ray could come up with one, Tinker put the blade into his neck. It took two more swings, but he got his head on the floor. Robert E. would have been proud.

Tinker belonged on a Frazetta cover even more now that he was covered in blood. Red noticed some on himself as well. He thought about running out the door, but his legs were jelly.

“You help me bury him without bitching, you can have the twenty thou.”

Thank God he’d taken a few hits off Billy Ray’s joint. Otherwise he’d really be freaking out.

* * * *

Luckily there was a decent patch of timber behind Tinker’s house where they could bury the pieces of Billy Ray after Tinker worked on him with an ax. Apparently, he didn’t want to dull his sword. After three hours, they got down to the head.

Red had called Britney a few minutes after they struck the deal and told her they were getting the money, but to call the police if he wasn’t home by morning.

Tinker took Billy Ray’s head out of the trash bag. “Wish I could mount this on a pike outside the house.”

Red looked away. “He was a friend of mine.”

“Rather have no friends than pussies like this.”

Red shoveled out the last piece of wet earth. “You’d get along with my wife.”

“How do you like marriage?”

“It’s what got me out here.”

“Love.” Tinker tossed Billy Ray’s head in the hole.

Red covered it with a shovelful of dirt. “You have a girl?”

“Did once.” Tinker looked around the woods. “Put her out here somewheres.”

“What did she do?”

Tinker shrugged “Something that pissed me off.”

Red filled in the last patch. “Can we get to the money now?”

“First we talk to your wife. I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

“She’s just like me.” Red thought burying Billy Ray together would have created some kind of bond. “Just someone who wants some peace of mind for her family.”

“I don’t really trust your judgment on people.” Tinker kicked the ground Billy Ray’s head was under.

The cold air went into Red’s skin. “I’m not putting my family at risk.”

“Then I’ll shoot you.”

“My wife will call the cops if I’m not home in the morning.”

“I’m sure you have your wallet on you with your driver’s license. I’ll take that off your body, then see your wife. Probably have no choice but to kill her then.”

Shit, he was a smart thug.

Red really wished he brought that shotgun now. If he took Tinker home, he’d have a better chance of getting to it and saving Britney. She’d be pissed to see a homicidal maniac with a Conan fixation in her living room, but this was all her idea to begin with.

* * * *

Tinker told Britney she looked familiar. Britney looked down at the Desert Eagle in his hand, then gave Red a look that made him wish he were buried with Billy Ray.

“Tinker just needs some reassurance.”

“Your husband complicated matters.”

“My matters got complicated when a truck used in a robbery found its way into our garage.”

“I told Billy Ray to hide it, I didn’t tell him where.”

It was odd Britney wouldn’t look at him, even though she sounded tough. “You should know Billy Ray Bryant needs supervision.”

Tinker stood there and studied her. Red hoped that Britney wouldn’t agitate Conan too much before he found a way to get to that shotgun in the bedroom.

Britney raised her hand up. “You want me to take an oath?”

Tinker shook his head. “You got a beer?”

Red went to the fridge. “Got Budweiser.”

Britney shook her head. “You boys can’t think without alcohol.”

Red grabbed two bottles out of the refrigerator. “Mind if I have one?”

“Your house.” Tinker told him.

Red grabbed an opener and popped the tops. Red realized “Tulsa Time” was on the stereo. He forgot Britney was a Don Williams fan too.

She huffed. “Can we come to a decision? My shift starts in an hour.”

Red handed Tinker his beer. “Britney’s a nurse.”

Tinker’s face lit up. “The nurse. That’s how I know you, you’re Billy Ray’s girl.”

Britney looked like she’d been slapped. “What are you talking about?”

“We all hung out two Thursdays ago at The Little Indian.”

Red took a step back, taking it all in, as impossible as that was. “Was that when you said you had that double shift?”

“From what Billy Ray told me, she worked a lot of shifts.” Tinker looked her over in her scrubs. “Took me a while to recognize you without the denim skirt and your tits hanging out of that red tank top.”

“I haven’t seen you in that for a while.” Red had the dirty look now. “Thought you said that’s not how a mother dresses. Course it would look good on a whore.”

Britney teared up. “It was a stupid way to blow off some steam. I do love you.”

She grabbed his arm. He brushed it off him. Tinker chuckled.

Red felt dizzy. He knew he had to keep it together to survive this, but nobody was helping him. At least he had the beers in his hand.

Tinker grinned at him. “Now I really can’t trust your judgment.”

Red shrugged. “Well, here’s your beer.”

He then broke the longneck on the right side of Tinker’s head, followed by the other on the left.

He dropped one of the bottles and grabbed Tinker’s gun hand.

Britney ran out of the room. Red didn’t know if it was to get away or do what he was about to tell her. “Grab the boy and get out!”

Tinker picked Red up by the hair. He could feel his scalp separate from his skull. Tinker charged forward, slamming him into the wall.

Red felt every bone in his body rattle, but he held onto the broken bottle. He slashed the jagged glass across Tinker’s forehead. Blood ran down Tinker’s face as he let out some kind of war cry. The crazy fucker was enjoying this.

Tinker head butted him in the face. Red heard his nose break, then felt it. He jabbed the broken bottle into Tinker’s cheek.

Tinker dropped the gun. Red kneed him in the groin. Tinker let go of Red.

Red dove for the gun. He saw Britney run past with Little Dale. The boy was screaming.

Tinker pulled out a knife.

Red picked up the Desert Eagle and fired. It had a hell of a kick. The bullet obliterated the TV. There went two hundred and fifty bucks.

Tinker went for Britney. Red steadied himself, aimed, and squeezed off another shot. The bullet took off a chunk of Tinker’s hip. He fell down past Britney. She got out the door with their boy.

Red got up with the gun. “I think I want half the money now.”

Tinker grabbed onto a chair and laughed. He kept laughing as he pulled himself up. Red didn’t know what to do.

Tinker got to his feet, covered in his own blood this time, knife in hand, grin on his face. “You would have made one hell of a partner.”

He tossed the knife. Red ducked. It gave Tinker enough time to get out of the house.

Red remembered seeing a shotgun rack in the back of Tinker’s Dodge and he didn’t figure him to be a man who backs down. He ran out with the Desert Eagle. His blood pressure went down a little when he saw Britney’s Pontiac race off. It went back up as Tinker pulled the shotgun out of his truck.

Red fired two shots in his direction and missed. “Christ.”

Tinker scrambled into the truck. Red made a dash for the garage. He heard Tinker rack load in as he got to the door. He fired off the lock of the garage’s side door and got inside and out of the way before Tinker put his own hole in it. He realized that the shotgun would take out the F-150 if he pulled out, then he wished he thought of that a minute earlier.

He had to think fast and did. He jumped up in the F-150 bed and pushed up the spare tire. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

He heard Tinker’s work boots stomping into the grass. Red heaved the tire on the floor and jumped out of the bed.

Tinker blocked some of the light he blasted through the side door. His breath grunted through the pain from his blasted hip.

Red rolled the tire.

The tire moved past the door and Tinker burst in. The tire crashed into two oil barrels. Tinker swung the shotgun in the direction of the noise and fired.

Red popped up and unloaded the Desert Eagle. Most of the bullets hit Tinker, putting him down for good. A couple hit the tire. It burst open with green paper. The stolen money exploded across the concrete floor.

Red let out a tired laugh. Now he had to figure out how to hide it all before the police got here. He also had to decide if he was going to tell Britney or not. That conundrum stopped his laughing.

He got the money together in a trash bag, put it under the lining of a can with twigs and raked leaves as he practiced a variation on what actually happened. He heard sirens and walked out to the front yard to greet the police. Looking at the cold, slate gray sky he was reminded that it wasn’t too different inside his house.

He shook his head. “Shit never ends.”