Chapter 12 #3
Dylan and Gunner were in the kitchen, having carrot cake and coffee.
“We saved the last piece for you,” Dylan said.
Asher eyed the measly sliver lying among the crumbs.
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” he said, then picked up a fork and ate it off the cake board it had been sold on.
“The Feds will be here by daybreak. We do not all sleep at the same time tonight. I’ll stand first watch.
Dylan can do the midnight to 3:00 a.m. and Gunner can do the 3:00 a.m. to daybreak, at which time we will all be up and ready, understood? ”
“Are we arming ourselves?” Gunner asked.
“Considering the fact that Dad couldn’t get to his in time, I’d say it’s a good decision, wouldn’t you?” Asher said.
“I don’t have a gun,” Dylan said.
“I don’t intend to sleep with mine. I’ll leave it with you,” he said.
“I sleep with mine,” Gunner said.
They both looked at him in surprise. “The hell you say!” Dylan muttered.
Gunner shrugged. “I always had a sleep buddy. Just traded Leopard for a Glock.”
“I remember Leopard!” Dylan said. “Raggedy little stuffy that you dragged around by the tail. I wonder whatever happened to that thing?”
“I threw it away after Brenda. Asher found it and kept it. He gave it back to me the year he graduated high school. Told me it was bad luck to give away a gift.” Then he glanced up at Asher. “Big brother always could talk me into believing just about anything.”
“I was ready to take on the world, but I hated leaving you two behind, and saying goodbye to Nora. The little critter was yours to keep,” Ash said.
“Where is it now?” Dylan asked.
“In a shoebox in my closet. Just in case I get tired of sleeping with the Glock.”
They laughed, and the moment passed. “Go on, both of you,” Ash said. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake Dylan when it’s time.” Then he began cleaning the kitchen, loading cups and flatware in the dishwasher before starting it up.
He made a fresh pot of coffee, got his handgun out of the bag in his room, popped in a clip, and took it with him to the living room, turning out lights as he went.
He muted the TV, then used the light from the screen as a beacon when he made his first sweep through the bar, then back into the house, locking the door between.
Last checkpoint was the back door and the basement door to reassure himself everything was secure.
It was going to be a long-ass night.
* * *
The Kingstons weren’t the only ones battling their demons.
Everett was still sick. Freddie’s Aya crash was as miserable as the high had been crazy.
He had the worst drug hangover he’d ever experienced, and was still sick with the flu.
Amarillo at night was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Lots of stuff going on, and they weren’t a part of it.
Freddie was stark naked under his covers, listening to the hum of the clothes dryer, and waiting for his pajamas to dry, wishing they’d never gone to the prison to visit their dad, wishing he’d never told them about that damn money.
Wishing Everett hadn’t shot that man. Wishing he was still in jail with three squares a day and sleeping in a bed he didn’t have to pay for.
When he heard Everett get up and then later, heard the toilet flush, he called out.
“Hey, Everett?”
He heard Everett stop out in the hall, then walk to the doorway of his room. “What?”
“Are we still going to try getting into the Tumbleweed again?”
“Hell yes, we’re going back, just as soon as we get over this crap. If we don’t do it before Kingston gets out of the hospital, then it will be too late.”
“How will we know if it’s safe?” Freddie asked.
“Shut up, Freddie. Just shut up and go to sleep. Safety is not part of our lifestyle.”
“Yeah, all right, Everett. I was just asking, but can I ask one more thing?”
Everett sighed. “What is it?”
“Do you reckon my pajamas might be dry? I can’t get warm.”
“Damn it, Freddie. You fried your brain, not your legs. Why don’t you get up and see if they’re dry on your own? I’m going back to bed. I’m still sick, too.”
Freddie was even more worried now as Everett walked away.
His brother wasn’t going to give up on the money.
They could get themselves killed.
He was going to have to abandon the warm spot in his bed in hopes his pajamas were dry.
That Dallas jail cell was looking better every minute.
* * *
Asher was kicked back on the sofa with his laptop.
He’d been running online searches on both Everett and Freddie Brandt’s names, looking for any kind of rental records in Amarillo that would tell him where they were now, but found nothing, until he began searching city utility records for new accounts, and found a new account under the name Everett Brandt.
“Score,” he said, snapped a photo of the address on his laptop, and exited the search, then opened another window in Zillow and typed in the address. He got a photo of the renovated motel that had been turned into apartments, and a map of Amarillo, showing him where it was located.
They were in business.
Just when he was about to go wake up Dylan, he began hearing a calf bawling, and it sounded like it was nearby. His first thought was that the runaways had found a way out of their pen, and he quickly went through the bar to look outside.
It was another longhorn yearling, clearly highlighted beneath a three-quarter moon, standing in the highway, bawling loud and long, trying to find the herd.
As Asher unlocked the door and walked out, he began hearing the ones they’d penned in the nearby pasture beginning to bawl back.
That was all the little bull needed to hear.
He watched it dart across the highway and clear the ditch before trotting off toward the fence line.
Satisfied that since it had found the herd, it wouldn’t go anywhere, and the owners could pick up the little runaway when they came to get the rest. After one last look around the area, he went back inside, then down the hall to where Dylan was sleeping, and gave him a tap on the shoulder.
“Hey, Dylan, your turn to stand watch,” he said.
Dylan threw back the covers and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then put his boots back on and stood up.
“Anything I need to know?” he asked.
“Just one runaway bull we missed rounding up. It was bawling for the herd. When they began to answer, it ran across the highway toward the pasture they’re in. Nothing more… Oh… I found where the Brandt brothers are living, but that’s info for another day.”
“I’d hate to try hiding anything from you or Gunner. Had you been living in that time, you two would have found Jimmy Hoffa,” Dylan said.
Ash shrugged. “Part of the job. There’s fresh coffee in the pot. I’m going to catch a couple of hours sleep before the party starts. Wake Gunner up around three. Oh…and here’s my gun. Don’t shoot yourself.”
Dylan grinned. “I’ve shot plenty of nail guns. I think I’m good.”
Asher shook his head and went across the hall to his bedroom, kicked off his boots, and went belly down across the bed without bothering to turn back the covers.