The tires sang as Prelo pushed the Scout fast through the curves. In the middle of a hairpin, he almost flipped when he swerved to miss some drunk on a moped. “You can slow down now,” Ray said, and Prelo feathered off the gas without so much as a word. He had the driver’s seat slid tight to the wheel so that his feet could reach the pedals. Ray was directly behind him.
A narrow bench seat was squeezed between the rear wheel wells and Ray had the man pushed to the far side of the cab. The man’s body was leaned to the side because of the way his wrists were bound. The duct tape was taut around his face. His eyes were wide and white as they passed through the lights from the high school.
When they came out of the cove Ray decided to see what all Prelo had found in the house. Dumping the satchel onto the seat, there had to be a good thirty grand in cash, maybe more. A package about the size and shape of a hardcover book was sealed tight in brown tape. Four heavy plastic ziplocks were filled with crystals that looked like rock candy. Ray didn’t have any idea what he was looking at other than that it looked just like the shit he’d seen in movies.
He had Prelo’s pistol in his left hand rested on his knee and he pulled the fixed blade from the sheath on his belt. Scooting across the seat, he pushed the tip of the knife into the man’s cheek to turn his head, then slipped the blade into the gap between tape and skin behind the man’s ear. The edge was razor sharp and the duct tape sliced clean against it. He put the knife away and ripped the tape free. The man grunted, then licked his lips. His hair was pulled tight to the back of his head, his brow deeply furrowed in the passing light.
“What’s your name?” Ray asked.
“What’s it matter?” the man replied.
Ray took him by his ponytail and slammed his face against the back of the passenger seat. With the man bent forward, Ray shoved his hand down the man’s back and fished his wallet out of his jeans. He flipped open the billfold and read the name from the license.
“Walter Freeman,” Ray said.
“Watty,” the man said. He seemed pissed off at the sound of his proper name. A dab of blood ran out of his nose and touched his lips. He turned his head to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his T-shirt. His face was clean-shaven but scarred on the cheeks from acne, high cheekbones accentuated by shadow. “I go by Watty,” he said.
“I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“So ask.”
“I want to know how my son come to owe you ten thousand dollars.”
“Come on, Mr. Mathis. You don’t need to waste our time with a question like that. You know good and well.”
“He said he was driving a truck for you.”
“He said what?”
“He said you asked him to drive a truck down to Georgia and that he wound up getting chased by police and wrecking. That he lost the truck and that’s what he owed.”
“What sense would that make? You think I’d trust some junkie to do something for me? You never struck me as someone who could be that gullible. I mean I get that he’s your son, but you have to know better. Does parenthood really shade your perception so much that you would buy a story like that? And I’m asking honestly. Does it?”
The last civil words that ever took place between Ray and his son were meaningless now. When Ricky’d added the dog to the story, that was the red flag. His son had a habit of working a dog into the lie because he knew his father’s weakness. That was Ricky’s tell and he’d played that final hand true to form. There was a sinking feeling in Ray’s chest. Deep down he’d known the story was bullshit, but that didn’t ease the hurt of certainty.
“I want you to tell me exactly how he came to owe that much money.”
“For God’s sake, he’s a junkie! Is that so hard to believe? He’s shooting whole grams. He has a fucking two-hundred-dollar-a-day habit.”
“Either way, that’s a long line of credit.”
“I didn’t give him any credit. He’d run up debts everywhere from here to Canton and is too fucking dumb to know we’re all working for the same people. Your son singlehandedly changed the way we operate. Shit like that won’t happen again, so who knows, maybe it was worth it. Sometimes you’ve got to step in shit to learn to watch where you’re walking.”
“Do you remember what I told you that night?” Ray said.
“I don’t know. I can’t honestly say I was paying much attention.”
“Then I’ll remind you,” Ray said. “I told you that if you ever sold dope to that boy of mine again, I’d kill you myself. Does that ring any bells?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t guess it matters whether you remember or you don’t. That’s what I told you. And that’s why I’m here.”
“So your son went off and got high again.” The man guffawed and shook his head. He stared at Ray with eyes dark and empty. “Here’s what you don’t seem to understand, old man. I’m not the one putting it in his hand and I’m certainly not the one shooting it in his arm. Only time anything petty as this lands in my lap is when somebody like your son runs up a bill he can’t pay and I have to collect what I’m owed. Other than that, I don’t touch the day-to-day. Your son is small potatoes. They’re all small potatoes. It’s too much of a headache dealing with junkies.”
“You’re going to need to watch how you talk about my son, now. I’m going to let it slide, but just the once.” Ray pinched the crown of his hat and resituated it onto his head. He brushed his beard down his chest with the palm of his hand. “Now, do you know that campground they call the Fort off 441?”
“What about it?”
“They found my son dead in one of them cabins.” Ray stared through the windshield at what was coming. “That’s been a week and a half ago.”
“What’s that have to do with me?”
“I’d say what that has to do with you is sitting right there on that seat beside you.” Ray nodded down to the pile of drugs and cash laid between them. “Whether you was the one put it in his hand or not, me and you had a deal. There was a debt owed and I paid it. I kept up my end.”
“So it’s about the money?”
“No, it ain’t about money,” Ray said. “Square’s square. He owed what he owed and I paid it.”
“If it’s not about the money, then what is it about?”
“This is about consequences. This is about a deal we made and you not holding up your end of the bargain,” Ray explained. “I’d say that campground’s ten miles as the crow flies from your front door. Things being what they are in these mountains, what do you reckon the odds are the dope that killed my boy come from anyplace else?”
“You’re the one in Jackson County who talked to the police.”
“What?”
“There’s not a conversation that happens off the Boundary that doesn’t reach my ears. It makes sense now. I figured it was some junkie trying to talk his way out of jail time, but even they’re not that stupid. This makes more sense. Your son dies and you look to get even by telling the law what you know. Once again, Mr. Mathis, whether your junkie son got that dope from—”
Ray reached clean across the cab and settled his right hand around the man’s throat. He clenched down on the man’s windpipe and squeezed until his eyes bulged from their sockets. “It’s taking every bit of constraint I have to keep from strangling the life out of you, boy. Now, I’ve told you once and I’ve told you twice and I will not tell you again. You’re going to choose your words carefully or the next thing you say will be the last thing out of your mouth.”
Ray bounced the man’s head off the side glass and the man choked for breath. He coughed and spit until he found air.
“I’m telling you now, old man. You two have bitten off a lot more than you can chew.” His head hung to his chest and a line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth.
“I’m perfectly fine with the bed I’ve made. What about you, Prelo? You all right up there?”
Prelo glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the road. “I’m good,” he said.
They were coming through the village now. Cars were lined up in the Dairy Queen drive-thru. A family was gathered around a picnic table outside washing chili dogs down with Misty Slushes. One of the kids was crawling around under the table scraping his Dilly Bar off the concrete. Past the restaurant, a big sign for Smoky Mountain Gold and Ruby Mine jutted out over the road. There was a picture of a white-bearded mountain man with a gold tooth in his mouth and a pickax in his hand. Seeing that sign right then hit Ray strangely, because maybe the way mountain culture had been sold off for tourist dollars had marked the beginning. They all played along, and Ray was just as guilty as everyone else. Money in your hand will make you turn a blind eye and pretty soon you quit caring enough about where you came from to say anything at all. He looked down at the drugs on the seat. Maybe this was the final nail in the coffin.
“Consequences,” Ray said. “Everything in this world carries consequences.” He picked up the crystal and the cash and put them back into the satchel. Grabbing the brick of heroin, Ray held the package up for the man to get a good look. “This shit right here. This shit’s poison. And you think you’re not responsible because you’re not the one putting it in their veins. You think it’s just supply and demand, is that right?” Ray shoved the dope in the bag.
“If it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else. Whether you like it or not, that’s how the world works. I’ve seen them stumble down that road all ages, but that son of yours, he was a grown man, Mr. Mathis. So I don’t think you can make much of an argument for peer pressure. Addicts are addicts and there’s not a thing me or you or anybody else can do about that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ray said. “What do you think this ride is, all this that’s gone on here tonight? I’m sick and tired of sitting back and letting you get away with murder. So you might be right. They might find it somewhere, but they won’t find it from you. And if that gets a little bit off this mountain, I’m all right with that.”
“And what does that get you? You trade murder for murder. You think if you kill me this is over? Because if that’s what you’re thinking, you’re wrong, old man. This here is bigger than me or you or that boy of yours. What you’ve got in that bag right there keeps a whole lot of people fed. You’re taking bread out of more mouths than you can imagine and that’s something they’re going to look to rectify. There are important people that I answer to. I’m nobody. They’ll bury the two of you off in the park somewhere and then they’ll get right back to business. It doesn’t matter if you kill me or not.”
“I ain’t going to kill you,” Ray said. He looked forward and met Prelo’s eyes in the rearview. Lowering his chin to his chest, he stared at the gun in his hand, thumbing the safety up and down like he was clicking a pen. “In my younger years, I’d have slit your throat like a lamb’s, but I’m too old,” he said. “I’m too old and too close to dying to carry one more thing on my conscience, Walter.”
“Watty,” the man said. “I told you. My name’s Watty.”
“I ain’t calling you that.” Ray tapped the slide of the pistol against the top of his knee. “That’s the stupidest fucking name I ever heard.”