Blacktop Wasteland(39)

“Come on, man, let’s go!” Ronnie said.

Beauregard got into the truck and eased it back to the main road. He had borrowed it from Boonie. One of Boonie’s guys had followed him to Cutter County last night. The guy had parked at the convenience store two miles down the road. Beauregard had hidden the truck then hoofed it back to the store.

They turned left onto Route 314 and headed for Route 249. Beauregard wanted to avoid the interstate. The old state roads would get them back to Red Hill. It would just take a while.

A state police cruiser shot past them doing at least 100 headed back toward Cutter County. Ronnie put his hand in his pocket as if reaching for the gun that he’d thrown in the lake.

“They’re looking for a primer blue Buick. Not a tow truck,” Beauregard said.

It took them nearly three hours to get back to Red Hill. Beauregard drove Ronnie and Quan back to Reggie’s trailer. He stopped the truck and put it in park. The three of them climbed out of the truck. Ronnie had the box tucked under his arm like a high school textbook. He walked around the front of the truck to the driver side and playfully punched Beauregard in the shoulder.

“Now that was what I call some driving! That’s why I needed the Bug! Goddamn, I thought I saw Jesus trying to take the wheel, but you were like nah, Hoss, I got this!” he said. He held up his hand for a high five. Beauregard put his hands in his pockets. Ronnie held his hand up for a few more moments then put it down by his side. Beauregard looked at Ronnie.

“I heard shots. Other people heard them too. That’s why the cops got called. What happened in there?” Beauregard asked.

Ronnie shrugged. “That dyke pulled a gun.”

“You kill her?”

“Well, I didn’t stop and take her pulse.”

“What about him? He kill anybody?”

“Man, it got crazy in there. Couldn’t be helped.”

“How she get the drop on you? I thought he was supposed to be crowd control while you went in the back,” Beauregard said. Ronnie had been wondering the same thing but now that they were out and back home he wasn’t that concerned about it.

Beauregard walked around him and went over to Quan. He stood well inside the other man’s personal space.

“How about it, gangster? What happened in there?”

“Man, what difference it make. We made it,” he said. He slurred the words “made it.”

“What you say?” Beauregard asked.

“I said—”

Beauregard slapped him so hard it sounded like a rifle shot. Quan did a 180 and slid against the hood of the wrecker. His blue T-shirt got caught on the wire cage over the headlight. Beauregard squatted beside him.

“You fucked-up, ain’t ya? I can see it in your eyes. Let me tell you what difference it makes. It’s the difference between an armed robbery that they might chase for a few months and first-degree murder that they won’t never let go. I told you not to get fucked-up. But you did it anyway. Let me guess. That lady got the drop on you when you zoned out while Ronnie was in the back. You stupid ass.” Beauregard stood.

“Don’t come back to Red Hill. You’re persona non grata now. I don’t ever wanna see you again. And you,” he said as he turned to face Ronnie.

“I don’t wanna see you until you got my money. Then we meet somewhere outside of town. Toss your phones,” he said. He squatted down again. He grabbed Quan by his braids.

“I don’t think I gotta tell you, don’t say nothing to nobody about today. I heard you vomit in the back of the car. I know this gonna be hard for you to live with. But you gonna learn to live with it or you gonna die because of it. You hear me?” he said. Quan nodded. Beauregard got to his feet.

“Last time, Ronnie. After you pay me, don’t ever come around me or mines again.” Beauregard climbed in the truck and fired it up. Quan extricated himself from the grill and got to his feet. Beauregard backed all the way out of Reggie’s driveway.

“I hate that motherfucker,” Quan said.

“I don’t think he too fond of your ass either. Come on, let’s get a beer. In a week, you gonna be eighty grand richer. Then you can hire a boxing trainer,” Ronnie said.

“Fuck you, Ronnie,” Quan said. He rubbed his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get that beer before Bug come back and give you a matching set,” Ronnie said. He headed for the trailer. A few seconds later, Quan followed him.

“I hate that motherfucker,” Quan murmured under his breath.



* * *



Beauregard drove out to Boonie’s, traded the wrecker for his truck and headed to the shop. The sign on the door had been turned to CLOSED. Kelvin must have been at lunch. He unlocked the door, went inside and turned on the lights. The Duster sat in the corner mute as the Sphinx, yet it still spoke to him inside his head.

“We are who we were meant to be.”

The voice in his head sounded like his Daddy. That rough, whiskey-soaked melodic voice that haunted his daydreams. But the words belonged to someone far more eloquent that he couldn’t recall. He ran his finger over the hood of the Duster. People had been shot. They might even be dead. There was going to be major heat coming down after such a brazen robbery in broad daylight. He had a feeling Ronnie was going to try and fuck him over for his cut. Quan was a fucking train wreck.