Chapter 9
Owen
“You’re in a good mood,” his aunt says as she enters the kitchen.
Owen lowers the spoon of cereal he was about to slip into his mouth. “How do you know what mood I’m in?”
“I make a living seeing through people’s crap. You could say I have a sixth sense.”
“Can you do magic tricks?”
“Watch it.” She goes to make herself a coffee, already in her uniform.
“It’s because of my new job,” he says.
She eyes him suspiciously. “Being a librarian must be more exciting than I thought.”
“It is.” He eats his cereal, trying not to look too happy. It’s hard, though, since all he can think of is his evening out with Will. It came out of nowhere, and now it almost feels like a sweet dream. At least he still has Will’s number as proof that it indeed happened.
“You were at Rodie’s last night?” his aunt asks before sipping from her coffee.
He’s almost reckless enough to say the truth, but he catches himself in time.
She knows he has new friends in town, but he never mentioned Will directly, mostly because he wasn’t sure if they were truly friends.
Now that Owen knows about the animosity between his aunt and Will, which is likely related to whatever happened with the sheriff’s son, it makes sense why Will wanted to keep his distance.
“I just hung out around the square,” Owen says with a shrug. “Nothing special.”
“Hmm. And what have you got planned for this morning?”
“I’m going to read, then maybe hit town to buy new shoes. I can also clean up around here.” He appreciates his aunt not bugging him about house chores, but he wants to be useful.
“A bit of cleaning up would be nice, and the front lawn could use some attention.”
“Roger that.”
She leaves shortly after, and Owen finishes his food and washes his dishes.
He then takes the old lawn mower from the shed.
Once he gets it up and running, he begins mowing the lawn.
It’s still early and a bit cold, but he doesn’t mind since pushing that heavy thing makes him feel warm in less than a minute.
Due to the loud noise, he doesn’t notice the approaching car until it’s right in the driveway.
He shuts down the lawn mower as Nate steps out of his private car, wearing civilian clothes.
“How’s it going?” he asks.
“Going well.” Knowing what this must be about, Owen can’t help but feel agitated. It’s been four days since Nate took him out to Eminence and explained the undercover mission. Should he have called Nate to set something up? He’s not sure.
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by, but I know Sheryl is working.” Nate takes a step closer. “Are you doing anything right now?”
“I’m mowing the lawn.”
“Yeah, no shit.” He smiles, and there’s a spark in his eyes that Owen isn’t sure he likes. “Saving lives is a bit more important than a pretty garden, I’d say. How about we get the ball rolling and drive over to Eminence?”
“You mean now?”
“I can wait until you get ready, but you don’t need to look fancy to buy drugs.”
He doesn’t feel ready, but he does feel committed to helping. “Do I have time for a quick shower?”
“Sure. I’ll wait inside.”
“How long do you think it will take? I still want to finish the lawn.”
“We should be back in a couple of hours. Easy peasy.”
They walk inside, and Owen goes upstairs to take a shower, while Nate waits in the living room.
Under the stream, Owen tries to calm down by reminding himself that he had bought drugs many times before, at crowded parties as well as in dark alleys.
He used to be extra careful not to get caught by the police, but now he has the police on his side.
He steps out of the shower and dries himself. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he walks to his room to get dressed, but he stops abruptly at the sight of Nate sitting on his bed. He narrows his eyes at what Nate is holding.
“That’s private.”
Nate doesn’t seem bothered about getting caught. He looks up from Owen’s sketchbook—the one that was in his drawer. “These are good.”
“These are private.”
“I like to snoop.”
What kind of an apology is that?
“Didn’t know you were an artist.”
Owen tries not to get angry, and he doesn’t like having a conversation when he’s in a towel. “I studied art and graphic design.”
“Nice. You like drawing muscles, that’s for sure. Are you focusing on anyone in particular?”
Owen rarely draws faces, but if he did, his latest work would have had Will’s face, since it was his body Owen had been imagining when he moved the pencil over the paper.
“I don’t have anyone specific in mind.”
Nate’s eyes slip down as he watches Owen. It’s the kind of look that feels physical, and Owen can’t help but shift uncomfortably.
“Do you ever draw yourself?”
“Myself? No.”
Nate puts the sketchbook down on the bed. “You should try it out. You look great. Didn’t think you were so smooth, though.” His stare once more feels inappropriate.
“I need to get dressed.”
“Yeah, sure. See you downstairs.”
Once alone, Owen shuts the door and exhales. Annoyed, he gets dressed before walking down the stairs.
As they drive out of Van Buren, Nate asks, “Are you nervous?”
“I’m about to buy drugs from strangers—of course I’m nervous.”
“Well, good. Being overconfident will tick them off, and then the bullets will start flying.”
Owen looks sharply at him, and Nate laughs. “I’m kidding! Jesus, relax.”
“Then stop telling lame jokes.”
“Yeah, okay.” He clears his throat. “Did you do anything interesting yesterday?”
Owen turns to look out the window. “Yesterday? No.”
“I was at Rodie’s. Thought I’d see you there.”
“I wasn’t in the mood.” Even though his dinner with Will shouldn’t be a shameful secret, he remembers what Nate had told him about Will’s past and the warning about befriending him.
Owen was suspicious of everything Nate had said, and now, after knowing Will a little better, he’s even more doubtful.
Wicked Will Thomas my ass. Owen has met his share of wicked people, and Will isn’t anything like them.
“Remember the plan. You’re not there to have a meaningful conversation—it’s all about buying drugs. Once they get used to doing business with you, we can take it a step further.”
It sounds simple, but Owen knows better than anyone that things can go terribly wrong when dealing with drug dealers.
They finally arrive at Eminence, and the place seems bleak no matter where he looks.
He doesn’t fool himself that drugs are the only thing holding this town back from prosperity, but he’s sure they play a key part.
Once you start having junkies walking around in broad daylight, normal people tend to find somewhere else to live.
“I’ll drop you off here,” Nate says as he slows the car to a halt. “The house I showed you last time is down this street. Someone should be outside, but if no one is, wait a bit—don’t knock on the door.”
“What if no one comes out?”
“Then they’re shit at their job. When you’re done, I’ll be waiting farther back in case someone tries to follow you.”
As much as Owen appreciates Nate thinking this through, he makes it sound more dangerous than Owen originally thought. He can’t remember ever worrying about drug dealers following him around, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t do that without him knowing.
“What should I say if they ask for my name?”
“Don’t lie—they might want to see an ID.” Nate pulls out some bills from his pocket. “Try to relax. They don’t want trouble. If they think there’s something fishy going on, they’ll tell you to piss off.”
Owen nods, his mouth dry although he’s not thirsty. He takes the bills and slips them into his pocket. “I’m just buying weed, right?”
“Yep. Go for two ounces. You have two hundred bucks, but try bringing them down a bit—it’s not like they’re selling high-quality products.”
Owen frowns. “Did you try anything they’re selling?”
Nate shrugs. “I have no problem getting high every once in a while when I’m not at work. I’m allowed.”
“Are you?”
“Nah, but who cares?” He taps Owen’s leg. “Go and make me proud.”
Owen exits the car and walks down the street. It has turned into a warm day, or maybe it’s his blood that is warmer than usual. He’s worrying that his cheeks are too flushed.
There’s a young man sitting on a chair on the street in front of the house Nate pointed out last time.
He’s wearing loose clothes and smoking a cigarette.
The way he sits with his legs stretched makes it seem like he owns the street, though with such a shitty street, it’s not much of an achievement.
Owen slows down and makes eye contact with the young man. “Hey.”
“Hey. You’re not from around here.” The man has a bit of a Hispanic accent.
“That’s right.”
“You’re looking for something?” He takes a long puff of his cigarette and blows out the smoke.
“I think I’m looking for you. Can we do business?”
The man shrugs and looks to the front. “I’m just a guy sitting outside, enjoying a smoke. Do I come across as a businessman?”
“Depends on the business, I suppose.”
“And which business is that?” His eyes find Owen again, offering a challenge and a warning.
“The kind that can make me feel good and make you some money.”
“Oh, that kind.” He takes another puff. “How’d you know to come here? I don’t run ads.”
“People from where I live recommended you. I’m from Van Buren.”
“You’re new there?”
“Been living there for a couple of weeks. Moved from Kansas City.”
The man whistles. “A big-city man. How’d you end up here?”
“I got into some trouble and needed to stay low for a while with a family member.”
The man nods. “You did business there as well?”
Owen forces a smile, hoping it comes out a bit cocky. “I might have struck a deal or two in my day. I’m Owen.”
Another puff of smoke, then the man throws away the end of his cigarette. “Joe. Lift your shirt.”
“What?”
“If you want to do business, you better show me you’re not wired.”
Owen lifts his shirt and slowly spins until he faces Joe again.
“You’ve got an ID?”
“Sure.”