Chapter 11
Methy in the Best Way
Shane parked his car on the side of the road a bit past the turn off for Greg Fever's farm. He clutched the GoPro camera in his hand, wincing at the gravel crunching with every step he took in between the tall, quiet woods.
Vermont was the second least populated state in the US, topping only Wyoming. He didn't have to go far out of town to feel like he was in the boonies, and Greg lived a solid hike outside of town. And up a long hill. He paused to catch his breath and checked his watch for the hundredth time. In and out, under an hour, regardless of what I do, or don't, find. The Town Hall meeting should last at least an hour.
He didn't tell his dad his plans. The stubborn old man would just try to come if he couldn't stop Shane. So, he texted Gary once more to reconfirm that he spotted Greg in the crowd. Text me if he leaves the room.
Greg Fever had removed any trace of plants or grass at the top of the hill where his RV was parked. A yellowing trailer with a gash down one side sat opposite the RV, and a collection of tires and broken down cars formed a semi circle around them. A trash can fire still smoldered off to the side, and a few glass bottles were scattered around an old folding chair aimed at a wide fire pit.
Darkness settled an hour before, but Shane could see well enough with the moonlight and contractor lights that Greg had staged around his fiefdom.
Alllllright. No going back now.
He strapped the GoPro on his head, cringing despite being alone. The Hi-ho song from Snow White would be stuck in his head for hours after he wore the camera on his forehead. Shane turned the camera on, its beam illuminating a few paces ahead of him, and made a wide circle around the RV and the trailer to make sure there were no surprises lurking. He planned to voice over the film later, so the only noise audible besides the occasional owl was his panting breath.
Shane entered the RV first. Shoes, piles of dirty dishes, and fast food trash greeted him. He tried to block out the smell of sweat and feet as he walked from one end of the RV to the other. What were you expecting? A treasure box of pills labeled "illegal"?
He opened the few drawers and kitchen cabinets, half expecting a rat to jump out at any moment, but turned up empty. With a groan he put his hands on the floor, avoiding a sticky patch by sheer dumb luck, and checked under the couch/dining room bench. Nothing. He panned the GoPro light under Greg's bed and it bounced off a long black case.
Please don't get stuck, please don't get stuck. He used a hanger and his freakishly long arms to drag the case towards him without getting fully wedged underneath. He turned the three digit dials to 1-2-3. No luck. He tried a few more combinations and almost shoved it back before trying 0-0-0. It clicked just as he thought he heard something outside the trailer.
Freezing, he crouched down in between the bed and the wall and turned off the GoPro so his light wouldn't give him away. He flicked the metal blinds open a fraction to see out the front. No one is here. You'd hear a car drive up if it was Greg. After a few more minutes of stillness and no sounds he turned on the camera again and cracked open the case. A mess of batteries, portable speakers, and several small black boxes with red and black wires were inside. He pushed a stray wire back, shutting the case, and the sound of loud heavy breathing bounced off the too-close walls.
He startled, banging his head against the window. Sheer panic had to die down before he realized it was just one of the black boxes making the breathing sounds. What the hell? He took one out and slipped it into his pocket, shoving the case back where he found it. He waited outside the RV in the still air for his heart to finally stop racing.
I'm too old for this, he thought, as he turned the knob to the busted trailer. No lights came on, so he turned on the light on his GoPro. Despite the gash down the side of it, the trailer was significantly cleaner than the RV. There was no trash on the floor, and the low twin bed was made. A neat pile of folded men's shirts sat on the counter, and the same moment Shane recognized the gray and black flannel shirt on top, he heard a creak behind him.
He turned just in time to block the baseball bat swung at him, but the momentum knocked his camera off his head. The front door to the trailer was open now, spilling moonlight over his attacker. He could make out a smaller figure, dressed in head to toe black, with a ski mask on. Dark curls poked out of the bottom of the mask.
"Maria?" He asked, incredulous.
She stopped yanking on the bat he still held and ripped off the ski mask.
"Jesus on a stick! You scared the hell out of me," she said, but she hugged him, briefly and tight before pulling back.
"What are you doing here?" She loud-whispered.
He picked up his GoPro and lamely held it aloft. "I thought I'd find the drugs Madison thinks Greg and Dave stole. I hoped to get something on camera so we could get Dave's case off you."
Maria shook her head, exasperation in every quaking curl. "We have to get out of here. Do you recognize those clothes?" She pointed at the pile behind Shane with her bat.
"I think so. Tat Face?" At her nod, he continued, "Text Madison to see where he is. They're supposed to be tailing that guy." He pulled out his phone. "I've got someone watching—"
His stomach dropped. He’d missed a text from Gary 10 minutes ago. "How long does it take to get to Town Hall from here?"
"Maybe fifteen minutes," Maria said. "Why?"
"We have to get out of here."
"That's what I said!" Maria whisper-shouted.
As if he conjured Greg with his thoughts, headlights filtered through the trees. The distinct sound of tires on gravel echoed in the too-quiet woods.
They bolted.
Maria grabbed his hand and yanked Shane in the woods behind the trailer, past the smoldering trash fire. They ran until they heard the car turn off, and the pair ducked behind trees. They were far too close to the trailer for Shane's comfort.
"Yea?" Shane heard the man say before pausing. "No, not today. Yea. I'll call you when I do."
He risked a peek from behind the tree, and watched the man with the tattoos on his face walk to the trailer. He mouthed to Maria, "It's Tat Face," and her mouthed response looked eerily like, "No shit."
He realized then that neither of them thought to shut the trailer door. Tat Face must have realized something was off in the same moment because he suddenly stopped walking. Shane risked another quick glimpse behind the trees only to see Tat Face creeping around the side of the trailer. The moonlight caught on the metal in his hands and Shane almost pissed himself at the size of the knife.
Maria was as still as the tree behind her, eyes pinched closed. He knew Brandon would take care of Emily but he would have given anything to be able to give her a hug one more time. He didn't risk another look, he could hear Tat Face slowly circling the trailer by the crunch in the leaves.
Shane would fight. He didn't stand much of a chance, but he had the element of surprise and it would at least be enough for Maria to run like hell. He started breathing heavier, in and out. I can do this.
He glanced at Maria who was looking at him like he was crazy and shaking her head vehemently no. She held a hand up, Wait.
He couldn't hear leaves crunching anymore. Tat Face is probably waiting behind his trailer, watching us.
New headlights beamed against the trees again down the hill, and he heard Tat Face start walking around again to the front of his trailer. It sounded like a truck, playing Noah Kahan, was pulling up the gravel drive. Maria and Shane didn't wait. She grabbed his hand and led him down a path he never would have noticed in the dark. The two crouched as low as they could and scrambled down the side of the hill through the trees.
Neither spoke, and Shane was convinced that at any moment they'd hear Tat Face shout out. After what felt like an eternity, the path opened up to a small parking lot. Maria's rusty Honda gleamed under the moonlight like the rescue horse it was, and they ran to it. She threw it in reverse, and the car bumped over dips and divots before turning onto the smooth, curvy road.
She spoke then, still a little breathless. "Greg's place backs up to that state park. Dave and I used to hike that path when we first met."
"Handy." He looked at her, and held his hand out, palm up. "Let’s never do that again, ok?"
She put her hand in his and squeezed it once. "Deal." She dropped his hand, turning up the heat instead, and said, "I think we should get some coffee."
"And vodka," Shane added. "Or Baileys, or bourbon. I'd do wine, too. Tequila?"
"I know a place that has all of that," Maria said, as she hugged the curvy roads that led back to town.