35
ANSON
Outside Stash’s office, Twill said she had to go talk to Lou and would see me later.
Talking to Lou meant he was likely to slip her another stack of napkins with the names and phone numbers of clients on them—chips, as she called them.
I didn’t want to think about that. It reminded me of the nights at Finicky’s when Libby and the other girls would get dressed up and leave with Detectives Welderman and Stocks.
When they’d go to that hotel. Chips. That’s all that was, too.
Only they had no choice. If you didn’t go with Welderman and Stocks, somebody got hurt. Nobody was twisting Twill’s arm.
I forced all that out of my head as I climbed the short flight of stairs to the small room up top housing the Quick’s makeshift infirmary. Stash’s ex-wife, Meagan, was there. Vincent was in a chair next to the Kid’s bed. The other two beds were empty. I wondered where the old man went.
The Kid was sitting up. Well, he was propped up with a lot of pillows. Most of his head was still covered in bandages, but his single visible eye was open, and when he saw me come through the door, his mouth curled into a crooked smile. “Anson!”
“Hey, Kid.”
“Ten more minutes, then he needs to get some rest,” Meagan told us before stepping out of the room.
I gently nudged the door closed and went to the side of the bed.
Vincent was picking at some loose skin near the nail of his index finger.
“Dislocated shoulder. Ruptured spleen. Concussion. Three broken ribs . . . I was just telling him, bouncing back from that might just make him tougher than me. Might.” Vincent tried to wink, which may have been the most awkward thing I’d ever seen because his eye only half closed.
Vincent didn’t do sympathy. He certainly didn’t do humor.
I hoped never to see him wink at me again.
The Kid tried to smile again, but it was more of a wince. “I’m sorry I mucked up the plan, Anson. Welderman searched us. He never did that before. I think he knew something was wrong the second our tire went flat.”
I thought back on that night. Vincent had let some of the air out of Welderman’s tires right before they left Finicky’s for the hotel with Weasel and the Kid.
The hope was that the rim would tear up the tire and they’d go to the local auto supply store near the hotel to get a replacement rather than use the donut spare Welderman kept in the trunk.
The Kid had money and a note with a list of parts we needed to repair an old truck we found in the barn.
He was supposed to slip the note and cash to whoever was working at the store, but Welderman had found the note and money.
The entire plan fell apart. When they confronted us back at Finicky’s, we got lucky and managed to overpower them.
We killed Welderman and Stocks, but not before Van Man managed to take off with Weasel.
We tied up Finicky and told the girls to meet us at my old house in Simpsonville.
When we got there, we found Finicky’s car, but Libby, Tegan, Kristina, and the Kid were gone.
The bodies of Welderman and Stocks were in the front seat.
Stocks had that note pinned to his chest, signed by Sam Porter:
“You’ve got an hour to take out the trash before I call the locals. Forget the girls. Don’t follow.”
My hands curled into fists at just the thought of that note. I sat on the empty bed to the Kid’s left and straightened my fingers. “What happened in Simpsonville?”
“We never got to Simpsonville. We barely got away from Finicky’s place.
There was a police blockade less than a mile down the road.
Tegan was driving. Libby was up front with her.
Kristina was in back with me. I was lying on the seat under a blanket Libby had found, barely conscious.
Libby told Tegan to run through the barricade, but she didn’t.
She hid the gun under her seat and stopped the car.
Someone yelled, told everyone to get out slowly, but they didn’t give anyone a chance.
The second Tegan had the car in park, they yanked the doors open and dragged the girls from the front.
I only caught bits and pieces of that. Kristina managed to get to the gun, but then her door was yanked open, too.
I felt her slip the gun to me under the blanket as they were pulling her out.
Something about feeling the cold metal of the gun in my hand, that woke me up. Pain or not.”
He paused for a second and started to reach for a glass of water with a straw on the table next to him. I got it for him and helped him take a drink before replacing the glass.
“Thanks.” The Kid dabbed the corner of his mouth with his sheet, and when he leaned back, Vincent helped him adjust a few of the pillows.
When he was situated again, he went on. “I don’t think they saw me, not at first. Or maybe they knew I was in bad shape and didn’t think I was a threat.
I don’t know. Either way, I stayed down, under the blanket.
I kept my eyes closed. I got my fingers good and tight around that gun and tried to figure out what was going on by the sounds.
Someone was crying—I think it was Kristina.
There was a slap. A loud one. Then some quiet.
I didn’t recognize any of the voices. I don’t think Van Man was there. If he was, I didn’t hear him.”
“Did you hear anyone use names?” Vincent asked. “What about the name Sam Porter?”
He thought about that for a long moment.
“I heard someone say the name Porter, but not because he was there—more like they were talking about him. Maybe they were waiting for him, or they planned to take us to him, something like that. It’s hard to say.
Things got real quiet then, almost too quiet.
I was about to sit up when someone grabbed me by my ankles and pulled me from the car. I . . .”
His voice trailed off, and his eye grew glossy.
“You what?” Vincent pressed.
The Kid swallowed. “It was a cop. They all were. But they were bad cops, right? All of them? Just like those detectives?”
Vincent nodded. “I’m sure they were.”
“I . . . I shot him,” the Kid said softly.
“Through the blanket. When he pulled me from the car, I was on the ground, lying down. I just pointed the gun up at him and pulled the trigger. I’m not sure how many times.
I just kept firing until it was empty. Maybe even after—I just kept pulling the trigger.
He fell, and a second later, the others were on me—kicking and stomping.
They kept going until I blacked out. I didn’t wake up again until I was in the hospital. ”
“So you don’t know where they took the girls?”
His gaze fell to the floor.
Vincent leaned closer. “Kid?”
When he looked back up, his single eye was filled with something like fear or hate. I couldn’t quite tell, but I think he was frightened. “Van Man was there at the hospital. Not the whole time; just once. Part of me thought I dreamt it. He was standing in my room, looking down at me.”
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
The Kid nodded slowly. “He told me I killed his friend, and now he had to kill one of mine. He said he didn’t want to, but fair is fair.
I told him to kill me. Then he said, ‘No, that wouldn’t hurt enough.
’ He would take someone I love and he’d make sure she knew she was dying because of me.
” The Kid let out a slow breath and settled back against his pillow. He looked exhausted.
Vincent and I exchanged a look, then Vincent said, “She?”
The Kid nodded.
“He was lying,” I told them both. “They’d never kill one of the girls.”
I didn’t sound very convincing, though. I’m not sure I even believed it.
What little I could see of the Kid’s skin had gone pale. “He said he didn’t want to kill one of my friends, but I could tell he did. He almost looked . . . hungry when he said it. Like he hadn’t eaten in weeks and someone just put a steak in front of him.”
Vincent sat back in his chair and kneaded his fingers together into a twisted knot. “We need to find that bastard.”
“We don’t even know his name.” I frowned. “And the license plate on the van was different every time I saw it. There was K5J34E, JHR591, BB3C91, and a few others. Probably all stolen.”
“You remember all that?”
I nodded.
I expected him to call me a freak again, or some other name, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Do you think Paul could draw him? We could show the picture to Stash and some of the others. Maybe someone at the Quick knows who he is.”
Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. Meagan poked her head through the opening. “That’s time, gentlemen. Your friend needs to rest. You can come back in a few hours.” She glanced over at me. “Anson, I was told they want you down at the parking lot, in Ruddy’s shack.”