Chapter 9 – CASH
CASH
That’s an ideal client, and normally, I would’ve enjoyed myself, but we were out of range of cell reception the entire time, and I had to keep stopping myself from saying “fuck it” and leaving the dude up on the ridge to go check on Glenna.
Jesse’s on it. He said he’d walk her home from work, drop by a few times during the day to make sure everything’s okay. He’ll watch her better than I could. It’s the kind of guy he is. Meticulous. Notices shit other people don’t.
Folks think Jesse’s mild-mannered and shy. The naked-baby angel curls don’t help his image any, but he’s tougher than any of us. More disciplined. When I think which of us could actually kill a man, first thought is Dina, second is Jesse.
Anyway, the client gets his buck early Wednesday morning. We field dress it and head back to my cabin to process him. I rinse myself clean with a hose, see the client off, and I’m back in Stonecut by half past six.
I ain’t fresh, exactly, but I’m chomping at the bit. I don’t wanna spare the time to drop by my apartment to shower and shave.
Glenna gave me a taste, and I’m wild for another. I want to bury my face between her legs again, dive on in there and take my time.
She smells like every dirty thing I’ve ever wanted to do to her. Like hungry pussy. Needy pussy. Her thighs are so thick, and so soft, and they quivered like little rabbits when I licked her clean.
I know she was proving some point to Toby the douchebag, but I don’t care, ‘cause I proved a point to her.
She lost her mind. Loved it. I guarantee once I was sucking her clit, she wasn’t thinkin’ about anyone or anything else. I can’t wait to do it again.
But when I roll up to Peace, Love, and Beans, it’s dark. They’re open until seven. I check my watch, but I’m right—they should be open.
I park and try the door. Locked. Shit. There’s spray paint on the window.
Snitch .
My adrenaline spikes.
Oh, hell no.
Someone’s scrubbed most of the red spray paint off, but there’s an outline.
I check my phone. Calls from Jesse, but none from Glenna. Goddamn.
I don’t bother checking voicemail. I dial Jesse, and he picks up on the first ring.
“She okay?” It’s the only thing that matters.
“She’s fine.”
“Where is she?”
“Her dad’s. I convinced her to stay with him until things settle down.”
“Who did the window?”
“I don’t know. Ken doesn’t have cameras on the place, and the dry cleaner has been less than helpful.”
I glance across the street, ready to crack skulls, but the place is dark. Closed for the evening. George Yoder lives above the store. Maybe I should go interrupt his dinner.
But no. I need to see Glenna. That can wait.
“She freaked out?” I ask.
“Not as much as I’d want her to be.”
I laugh. “When that dumbass shot her, all she got was a little more salty.”
“Cash, I don’t like this.” Jesse’s voice actually betrays concern. My nerves get jumpier. Jesse is the guy you’d want on an evacuation recording. He has never in his life sounded alarmed. If he’s nervous, I need to go to DEFCON 1 .
“Me, neither. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
I don’t know. Protect my girl. Find out who fucked with her store and beat his ass. Never let her out of my sight ever again.
Jesse goes on before I can answer. “I don’t hang out in town, but listening to Bill, this shit has the potential to get really ugly.”
Bill, the barn manager, spends every moment he’s not with the horses at the bar in Birdy’s. He knows what’s going on.
“Yeah.” What do I do? Really, it has nothing to do with Glenna or me, but we’re stuck in the middle of it nonetheless.
“Cash, did you read the indictments?”
“Jesse, I didn’t even read your text messages.” He should really know me better.
Jesse takes a minute to go on, and when he does, there’s a rawness in his voice. Betrayal. “He did it, man. Del did it. He sold armored vehicles to drug dealers and terrorists.”
“No fuckin’ way.”
Del’s a good guy. He ended up behind a desk, but when I was a kid, if something went down, Del was there. He was the one pulling people out of wrecks. When the Holmes kid got lost on west peak, Del was the one who found him. He’s a hero.
“He screwed up some paperwork.” He couldn’t have done this shit on purpose. What about Lil?
“There was a sting,” Jesse says. “The feds have him dead to rights.”
There’s no way. “Somebody set him up.”
“Who?”
“How the hell would I know? Someone who knew Lil was sick. The medical bills have got to be piling up. Someone took advantage. You know he’s torn up over her.” My anger is rising at this unknown asshole. It’s the only way this makes sense.
“Cash, no.” Jesse is calm and certain. “Del started doing this years before Lil got sick.”
“It’s not possible.”
First Van. Now this. This isn’t the Stonecut I know. Except for a festival for every possible season, plant, fruit, and holiday, nothing happens here. We beef about parking. Whether a sign’s too big or a fence is too high. Tempers flare, but we leave it on the field.
Folks get along. This isn’t the big city. We don’t have crime. We sure as hell don’t have the kind of scandal that’d make the national news.
“He’s gonna go away for a long time,” Jesse says.
“Oh, Jesus. Lil.” This’ll kill her.
“People are angry. They’re not reading the indictments, either. They’re going to come after Ken and Glenna.”
“Like hell.”
“How are you going to stop them, Cash?”
As far as it goes, it’s a good question.
I don’t know. But in this town, people don’t mess with the Walls. “I’ll handle it.”
Jesse doesn’t reply.
“I said I’ll handle it.” I don’t recognize the note of anger in my voice.
“Okay, brother. I’m here if you need me.”
“Were you the one who tried to get the paint off the window?”
Jesse chuckles. “That was Glenna. When I came by, she was scrubbing, and people driving past were honking and flipping her off. She scrubbed harder and flipped ‘em back.”
“Sweet lord.” Someone could’ve thrown a brick at her.
“Cash, they did it when she was in the back of the shop. She was there. It was broad daylight.”
My guts cramp. “I hear you.”
This ends now.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and head around the building to the apartment entrance. As I jog up the stairs, all I can think is one thing, and it’s an unfamiliar one to me—
I don’t know what to do.
When I knock, I hear Glenna’s footsteps, then the chain scrapes, the door opens, and she’s standing there, barefooted in leggings with a cute little skull pattern and a white T-shirt. She’s got the hoop in her nose and her hair up in a messy bun.
She didn’t spare a second to look through the peephole. My lord.
I can’t holler, though.
I pick her up, walk her to the wall, and kiss her. She melts like candy. Clings to my biceps. She doesn’t make a sound, but her breath quickens.
She’s missed me, too.
“Jesus Christ, woman, you don’t look out the peephole? You got the whole town after you, and you just fling the door open?”
“You tell her!” Ken calls from the front room.
“I knew it was you,” she says all bashful, her cheeks pink. “I saw you pull up out front.”
I can’t stop touching her. I mess with the tendrils falling loose from her scrunchie, smooth her shoulders, squeeze her ass.
She squeaks and slaps me.
I grin. She’s not slipping free. She’s staying right where I put her, against the wall.
“You want a beer, Cash?” Ken asks.
“Sure.”
“Bring me one, too,” he says.
Glenna grins and shrugs, then leads the way to the kitchen.
The apartment is exactly what I would’ve pictured as the place where Glenna grew up.
It’s a hodgepodge. Spider plants in macrame hangers.
A gigantic wooden spoon and fork hanging above the table as decoration.
Old band posters and tie-dyed wall hangings and beaded curtains.
The place smells like books, incense, and spicy cooking.
It’s a warm place. Cozy. Chill.
I like that she has this.
I grew up in a model home. I’d throw a dirty sock on the floor of my bedroom, and when I came back from school, it’d be gone. It’d turn up later paired with its mate in my top dresser drawer.
You can never get quite comfortable enough to jerk off in a house like that. It’s a good thing I camped a lot.
Glenna grabs three Schlitzes from the fridge and hands me two. Then she leads the way down a narrow hall to the front room. Ken’s sitting by a window in an upholstered chair with wooden feet and arms, a TV tray in front of him. He’s clacking away on a laptop.
I pop the top, drink deep, and ask, “Where you want it?”
He holds out a cupped palm, and I beer him.
Glenna curls herself into the corner of a worn couch, so I sit in the middle and squish her. She tucks her toes under my thigh, and I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy.
My girl.
Mine.
I sigh, rest an arm on the back cushion, and stretch my legs. This is a good place. A home.
Ken takes off his glasses and lets them dangle from a cord around his neck. Then he moves his table to the side and crosses his legs like a history teacher I had who wore sweater vests and waxed his mustache so it twirled like Snidely Whiplash.
“So I guess you’ve read the indictments,” Ken starts.
“I got the gist,” I say.
“I had expected him to be charged with conspiracy and fraud, but I did not foresee the violation of the Arms Export Control Act. That’s prosecutorial overreach, in my opinion.”
Ken’s crinkled eyes are sparkling. He’s stoked.
Del isn’t a real man to him, but he is to me.
Del taught me a hundred things—knots and tracking and where the old mines are up past the ridge.
The animals that used to live on the mountain when he was a boy.
The lost trails and springs. I wouldn’t be who I am without Del Willis.
So what does that make me?
I don’t know. It all feels wrong. Like a stain. Worse. A stench.
“He really did it?” I ask.
Ken blinks, surprised by the question. “To my mind, his guilt has never been in doubt. Only the extent of the crimes.”