y’know? Got a thing for handsome studs like meself. But don’t tell ’im I said that.”
“I never tell anyone anything, Frankie.”
“Good Sam, that’s the way ya need to be. See that ya stay that way and I might return the favor one day.”
“Meaning what?”
“Just that Bob might not be as understanding as I am when it comes to yer trusted man Jimmy. Bob might conclude that the two a ya got no redeeming social value at all and need to be eliminated. And should that terrible duty fall upon my broad shoulders, Sambo, I promise ya I’ll make it as fast and painless as I know how.” Neelan’s lips were turned up in a smirk
Sam shot him a quick stare trying to determine Frankie’s level of seriousness, concluded he couldn’t read the man and shrugged it off. “Very kind of you, Frankie,” Sam said, “I’m sure your kindness will be rewarded.”
Hopefully in the afterlife, you cocksucker.
Then they both set their eyes across the four-lane towards a doublewide mobile home nestled down inside a low spot encircled by trees. Sam couldn’t see much. When the wind pushed the trees he’d catch a glimpse of the dwelling and the clearing in front. Then he saw a beige car exiting the northbound lane of the highway. He watched it swing around the overpass and head toward the trooper’s place, plumes of dust billowing behind it. The vehicle turned up the drive and passed through the grove of trees around the mobile home, momentarily disappearing from Sam’s view.
A moment later Neelan was lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. “Hallo,” he said. “What have we ’ere?” He paused, grinning, looking over at Sam before putting the glasses back to his eyes. “Got ourselves an American beauty, Sammy. She just went inside the caravan. Maybe we should go over and provide formal introductions.”
“Not a good idea, Frankie. A member of law enforcement lives there, in case you forgot.”
“But he don’t seem to be at home presently, Sam. And I’m thinking the lady might be feeling forlorn out here on the lone prairie, perhaps needing the companionship of an Irish sex machine.”
If there was such a thing, Sam thought.
“Ryan, authorize you to make contact?”
“Bob lets me make my own decisions, being I’m a grown man and his most trusted employee. Just like yer little boy Jimmy—only smarter.”
“At least Jimmy has better taste in music,” Sam said. “Doesn’t like these electronic camel farts.” Gesturing at the radio.
“Ya mean ya don’t like Skrillex? Avicii? Diplo? Yer just too fookin’ old, Sam, And what’s Jimmy’s taste then? The fookin’ Beatles or some other fookin’ dead band? This stuff is the cutting edge, Sambo. Up to date. What’s happening in Europe and the rest of the world.”
Ignorant mick saying fookin’ instead of fuckin’, but not all the time.
Curious.
“This isn’t the rest of the world,” Sam said. “It’s Texas.”
“And the Texans are playin’ the real shite. Have yourself a good listen, Sam.” Frankie turned up the radio, gave Sam a toothy, crooked grin and put the binoculars back to his eyes. “Got a nice set of buns on her, Sammy, whattaya say we roll on over and see what she smells like? Bet it’s sweet, like flowers and new-mown grass.”
Sam got a shot of electricity from his asshole to his toes as Neelan twisted the ignition and put the SUV in gear.
Cyn was kicking herself the entire drive out here. Feeling—well, she didn’t know quite what she was feeling. Whether it was embarrassment or regret—or disappointment for letting her resolve cave in so soon. But she missed Danny too much to pretend otherwise. And when it came to their son she didn’t trust her husband that much. Face it, Dan knew about drug traffickers and car thieves, illegal immigrants and night missions in Iraq, but when it came to kids he was kind of an ignoramus. Ignoramus was once one of her favorite words, Cyn and her middle-school friends in Minnesota applying the label to some of the boys in their class. Most of them, really. But after moving to Texas she found it applicable to so many she had to search for new options, settling on Neanderthal to describe the core group of males in the region, not missing the irony now that she had succumbed to the charms and physicality of a man befitting the title.
That’s what youth and a hot box will get you, she thought, inserting her key in the trailer door.
It was obvious the big Neanderthal and his young son were not at home. Breakfast dishes in the sink, unwashed. Typical. A quick assessment of the toy barrel told her they’d gone to the beach, Danny’s pail and shovel, dump truck and inflatable beach ball, missing. And there was Dan’s whiskey bottle in plain sight on the counter, big Neanderthal obviously adapting quickly to her absence.
A tiny thread of anxiety wriggled in her chest. The desire to see her son and make sure he was all right growing stronger by the second. She’d read some articles about attachment parenting, believed it was something good but wondered if it was too late to start since Danny had already begun occasional visits to daycare. She also believed her husband would dismiss the concept as more of her “hippie-dippy bullshit,” another example of Dan’s lack of understanding. Cyn believed she was as far removed from a hippie as was possible.
So she’d go looking for them. Grab a few more things from her dresser and drive down to the beach. She was pretty sure they’d be at the public area in Port Aransas, Danny always craving a Whataburger after swimming.
There—she made a decision. That was better.
The sand fleas were stirring again as Sam watched the lanky Irish soccer hooligan’s thick white calves going up the steps of the mobile home, the goon’s wide shoulders and ripped arms accentuated by a tight green t-shirt with Ireland across the back. Sam had warned against this confrontation but Frankie’d paid him no mind, saying that someone living in a tin can might find the temptation of a million dollars too much to resist.
So there actually are thoughts inside that battering ram head, Sam was thinking as he washed down one of his last precious pills with some lukewarm bottled water, trying to recall what it was they said about water in plastic bottles. Was it the warmer they got the more of the plastic got into your system or the opposite? This gave him a sensation like ants crawling in his shorts, Sam hating the whole culture of plastic everything that was taking over the world. But what could he do except go along with it? You just had to ride the rabid camel.
Now Frankie was up knocking on the door of the mobile home, Sam hoping the asshole wouldn’t get any more twisted ideas about the girl and her “nice pair of buns.”
Cynthia heard the strong knock on the door and wondered who the heck it could be. Visitors to her home were infrequent. She’d seen the SUV coming up the drive—dust followed everything around here—but the only ones that usually came were family. Or possibly delivery guys. Dan’s trooper buddies preferred town bars in Mathis or Corpus or Sinton for their alleged bonding sessions. And ever since Dan’s people moved back east to Ohio, visitations out here were down to nearly nothing, Cynthia’s side of the family preferring her to visit them, her parents seemingly thinking the trailer was somehow below them, but not saying it.
With anxiety tapping in her solar plexus Cyn peeled back an edge of the curtain and looked sideways through the front window at a tall man with a big square head, red hair and a somewhat charming smile. He was a cute one, whatever or whoever he was—and the black SUV he came in was an awfully expensive vehicle. Cyn thought the squatty gray-bearded man waiting in the front seat resembled a teddy bear with issues, smiling to herself at the thought.
But what the heck did these two want?
Curiosity got the better of her and she opened the door.
“Evenin’, ma’am,” the tall redhead said with a foreign accent. “My name is Leo Green and I represent the Sundowner Awning Company. We are looking for