The next few weeks flew by. As July slipped toward August, excitement began to build in the valley over the upcoming county fair. It was one of the highlights of the rural area’s year. Mike had begun to feel himself a part of the community. He’d been accepted by Jeff’s small circle of friends and had begun to develop a sense of home for the first time in long, rough years. The idea of racing the Mustang again had taken firm root, giving him something to be excited about, too. Well, besides Jeff that is. He grinned to himself. They were still working things out, but it was beginning to feel real good, long-term kind of good.
Mike tightened the final bolt on the Mustang’s engine mounts, eased out from under the car, stood, and stepped back to view his work. A person could eat off that engine now. Not a speck of grease or dirt remained, and he knew the inside was in just as good shape. He’d been able to accomplish a lot in a few short weeks. Thanks to Jeff, for the most part. He made sure he didn’t neglect any of the work he was doing for Castle Classic Cars, but he knew Jeff kept close track of what he assigned to Mike and made sure he had time to work on his own car. There was no question—the Mustang would be ready to go for the stock car races held in conjunction with county fair in late August, a good place to start again. If he did well, like take first place, he might be able to afford an attorney to look into clearing his name and getting his conviction reversed.
Sunday afternoons were normally quiet. Jeff was off doing something on his own, the gates were closed, and the phone hardly ever rang. Mike wanted to finish a couple more things before he closed up for the afternoon rains. It didn’t rain every day, but the clouds swept out over the valley and the threat was there, so it made sense just to quit and not be caught by the weather.
He went back into the trailer to collect a couple of other tools. When the phone rang, he jumped. Sure it was someone calling Castle, even though they were known to be closed on Sunday, he let it ring. The answering machine in the office would pick it up. But the phone kept ringing. The power outage the night before must have messed something up. He growled a curse and picked up the phone. “Castle Classic Cars. We’re closed.”
“Hey, Mike, I broke down out here on the road to the lake. Get the tow and come out and get me.”
The voice did not sound quite like Jeff and the abrupt tone didn’t either, but who else could it be?
“Jeff? How far out are you? Did you get a new cell phone? The caller ID isn’t recognizing it.”
“Yeah, new phone. I’m about ten miles out of town. Shit, damned battery is going. I gotta hang up. Come get me.”
In spite of a niggling sense something was not right, Mike hurried down to the office, got the keys to the slider, and headed out. If Jeff needed help, it was the least he could do.
He made sure the gate was locked behind him and stuck his own new cell phone in his pocket. If the battery was dying on Jeff’s, they might need it. Nobody was going to be calling him, but that wasn’t the point.
As he approached the pickup off the side of the road, more warning bells went off in Mike’s mind. For one thing he realized, as he stopped, that it wasn’t Jeff’s truck. Same make and model, but more beat up and not quite the same paint job. Shit, what’s going on?
He swung down from the cab and started toward the pickup. Then a guy got out and he found himself looking the business end of a semi-auto handgun, at least a .38 by the size of the barrel. Up close and personal the damn thing looks like a fuckin’ cannon. Jesus. After he tore his gaze away from the threat of the gun, he recognized the scarred visage of the man who held it.
“Hank, what the hell are you doing out here? What do you think you’re doing, calling me out with my boss’s tow truck and sticking a gun in my face?”
“We’re going to help ourselves to a few cars and get them across the line to Mexico for some good money, man. Got the gun ‘cause I wasn’t sure you’d cooperate, even after the time we shared in the pen. Link told me you were goin’ straight after your little vacation on the state of Texas. But you ain’t, are you? You’re gonna to be in this up to your eyeballs and you’re gonna be the one to go back in if we get caught, ‘cause I’m gonna be long gone.”
Hank Filmore. Shit. The dirty little weasel must have gotten out right after I did and somehow tracked me down. Times we shared my ass—both of us getting fucked by Big Boy Washington is all there was. No way am I goin’ to let this scumbag get me in trouble again.
Mike squared his shoulders. “No damn way, Filmore. I’ve got a good deal going for me and no way am I fucking it up for the likes of you. The only way you’re getting this truck is to leave me dead on the ground when you take it. If you have the balls to shoot me, go ahead. Do it right now before I take your peashooter and shove it up your ass.” It was a bold threat, maybe a stupid one, but he didn’t care. Jeff’s truck would go only over his dead or incapacitated body, no other way.
Hank raised the gun again, a wild look in his eyes. Mike heard the explosion from far away and felt the slam of the bullet. Then everything simply stopped.
* * * *
Jeff would have liked to have Mike over for the weekend, but he knew the other man wanted to finish some work on the Mustang. It was coming along really well, and with a new paint job would look like a brand new car. Mechanically, it was almost there already. Still, he wanted them to be together a lot more than they were. He also knew Mike needed his space and some time to adjust to this new relationship, but it was hard to be patient.
Finally he picked up the phone. Maybe he’d at least ask Mike over for supper. He knew that on his own Mike didn’t eat right, grabbing a can of beans and weenies or spaghetti with sauce from a jar or something equally disgusting instead of a good home-cooked meal. Jeff enjoyed cooking and didn’t find it a chore to cook almost every night, even if he ate the results alone.
He dialed the number of Mike’s new cell phone. It rang and rang, but no one answered. That was odd. Well, maybe he took the Mustang out for a test run and forgot to take the phone along. I’ll try again later.
He did—twice before full dark with the same result. After the third time, he got into his truck and drove out to the lot. He had no idea what but something had to be wrong. At first he didn’t see anything strange. The Mustang sat in its place beside the trailer, which was dark, but the door was unlocked. Nothing was disturbed inside. When he went back out, he suddenly realized there was an empty place behind the main building. The slider wasn’t there. He checked in the office and the keys were gone.
All this was really strange. Why would Mike have taken the truck without letting him know? He went to the phone and checked the recent calls. The latest showed no caller ID and had come in about one-thirty this afternoon. Damn, something’s wrong. I don’t even know where to start looking, but something tells me Mike’s in the middle of it and it’s bad. Clenching his fists in frustration and futile wrath, Jeff stalked back out to his truck. He drove out of the lot, closed the gate, then sat there with the motor running. He felt the urgency as strongly as if Mike had called him name…but where? Which way should he go?
Finally, because there really wasn’t anything else to do, he went home. If he’s not back by morning, I’ll go talk to Sheriff Stoner. They’ll probably tell me it’s what I get for trusting a convict, but damn it, Mike wouldn’t stab me in the back. He’s been so sincerely thankful to have a chance…and then there’s this new thing between us.
As he drove slowly back down to his home, Jeff felt the pain of this sudden shock as keenly as a knife in the gut. He refused to believe Mike would betray his trust, yet things were looking more and more as if he had. Why would he take off in the slider truck without letting Jeff know unless it was to do some kind of dubious business that was meant to be a secret?
The evening dragged by on leaden feet as he waited and fretted. He was in bed watching the evening news when the phone rang. He almost knocked it to the floor in his hurry to grab it.
“Are you missing a truck?”
At first he didn’t recognize the voice. Then it registered—Sally Coffman, the evening dispatcher for the Greenway County Sheriff’s Department. They’d dated a couple of times when Jeff first arrived, but there’d been no chemistry. Still, they had stayed friends.
“Am I?”
“Someone found your slider out on the Lake Chambers road and a man down, shot once in the left side. Got an ambulance on the way for him, but Deputy Hanson said you might want to come check on your truck.”
“The guy…is he lean with a dark complexion? About five-foot-ten? How bad is he hurt?” Questions crowded faster than he could voice them, much less expect answers.
“Whoa, one at a time, please. Yes, that’s the general description. As to how bad, I don’t know. He wasn’t conscious, and the reporting deputy called for an ambulance. That’s all I know.”
“Sounds like Mike Watson, a guy who’s been working for me for a few weeks. I can’t drive out there and also drive the truck back. Any chance I can get a lift? Or maybe I’ll just go to the hospital first. Are they en route yet or do you know?” Urgency ricocheted through him. Is it Mike? Is he going to be okay? What happened? All those answers would have to wait, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t wonder, wouldn’t worry.
“The ambulance just now reached the scene. They’ll be heading back soon, I expect. If the man’s condition is critical they won’t waste any time.”
“I’ll go to the hospital first then. Tell the deputy to leave the truck locked and I’ll take care of it no later than first thing tomorrow. I’m the closest to next-of-kin Mike has right now. Since he works for me, I need to be there to authorize his care and take responsibility for the bills.”
Jeff was dressing one-handed before he put the phone down and out the door almost before it settled into the base. He beat the ambulance to the hospital, but only by a few minutes. Damn it, Mike, don’t you go and die on me. I don’t care what you were doing out there or why someone shot you. Just don’t fuckin’ die!
The EMTs brushed past Jeff in a rush. He caught a glimpse of Mike, very pale under his dusky tan, with an oxygen mask over his face and an IV line in one arm. Jeff could not see where he was shot. Sally had said in the left side, which left a good bit of territory. Somewhere below the shoulder, obviously. He couldn’t see anything else beneath the blanket snuggly wrapped around Mike’s body. A sick mixture of fear and horror gnawed at his belly. This was so wrong.
Doing the paperwork to admit a patient kept him occupied for a while, but Mike was still in surgery when he was done. He paced the waiting area, too troubled to sit still. Finally, about three o’clock, a nurse came out and spoke to him.
“Mr. Castle? They’re bringing Mr. Watson out of surgery now. They’ve got him stabilized and extracted the bullet fragments. Since it looks like an attempted homicide, they’ve got to maintain some restrictions until he awakens enough to tell what happened, but he should be all right. Blood loss was the major issue and he was given two units to take care of the shortage. You’re going to have a substantial bill, I’m afraid, but his chances for total recovery are now very good.”
Jeff almost collapsed with relief. “To hell with the bill. If he’s going to be all right, that’s the only thing I care about. Can I see him?”
The nurse shook her head. “Not until tomorrow. He’s heavily sedated and there’s no way he can tell you anything yet. He’ll have to talk to the law first anyway. No one thinks you were involved, but it’s just a matter of policy, you know.”
Biting back a curse, Jeff thanked the woman and reluctantly turned to go home. He’d be back first thing in the morning, no question. As for the truck, he’d make it second priority, but Mike definitely came first.
* * * *
He hurt all over, especially along his left side, the bottom rib. Mike blinked and focused bleary eyes on the strip of sky visible through the blinds of the window to his left. Gray but bright. Clouds then. Probably afternoon. Where am I and what’s going on?
After a moment, memories began to return. The freaky call, the drive out toward Chambers Lake, the pickup that almost looked like Jeff’s, but wasn’t. Hank Filmore. Oh, shit. Jeff’s going to think I set something up and it went bad. What else could he think?
If he hadn’t been so damn weak and sore, he’d have been out of the bed and hunting for a phone. He needed to talk to Jeff. Just then a nurse came in, one of the falsely smiling ones who talked to you like you were in kindergarten.
“Well, good afternoon. Are we feeling better now? Do you need a pain pill?”
“I need a telephone and then my clothes so I can get out of this lousy joint.”
“Now, now, we can’t be getting upset. There’re several people who want to talk to you, Mr. Watson. If you feel up to it, I’ll bring them in one by one.”
“All right. Let me talk to whoever I have to and then a doctor so I can see about getting out of here.”
The first visitor was a uniformed officer from the sheriff’s department. Mike told him the story in the most concise and factual way he could. “Was the tow truck gone? It’s my boss’s, my—uh—my friend’s, and I don’t want him thinking I was trying to steal it or use it to steal other cars. That’s important.”
“The Castle truck was at the scene when the deputy found you. There were tracks like another vehicle had peeled out fast. Can you give me a description of the pickup? How about a license number?”
Mike could describe the pickup, but he was almost sure the license plate was not readable. He thought, though, it might have been the colors of a Texas plate. He’d been too busy and too confused at first to note a lot of details. He didn’t hesitate to give Hank Filmore’s name and a couple of aliases he claimed to use.
I want that sorry mother back in custody, damn it. If this shit has turned Jeff against me, he’d better look out. I’ll be on Filmore’s dirty ass as soon as I get mobile.
He didn’t have long to worry about Jeff’s opinion. His next visitor put his mind at ease. The deputy had hardly exited when Jeff came to the door. He stood there for a long minute, simply looking at Mike. Then relief and a wide grin swept over his face.
“You’re awake and alive! Maybe there’re guardian angels after all. And no, you’re not in any trouble I know of either. I heard most of what you told the deputy. But I already knew—you wouldn’t double cross me. I’d have bet my life on it. “
Jeff strode across to the bed and took Mike’s right hand in a crushing grip. “Don’t ever give me a scare like that again, though, or I’ll personally kick the dog turds out of you when you get better!”
He was laughing and crying at the same time. Mike wanted to hug him, but couldn’t reach. “Bend down, man. You’re too far away.”
Jeff complied and planted a kiss on Mike’s lips that had his prick jumping to attention, even though he knew they couldn’t do anything here and now. He’s not mad, still trusting me. Oh, thank all the gods!