Small Town Hunter (Sins of the South #5.5)

1. Prologue - Dee

ONE

PROLOGUE - DEE

Overnight, we were millionaires.

I was so mad.

Sebastian always says it’s better to play your cards close to your chest. Never show the whole hand. You know that old song? You got to know when to hold ‘em…Know when to fold ‘em…

Anyway.

I didn’t think playing close meant we’d be fleeing across the country in the back of our ancient Crown Victoria with our baby daughter in the backseat, looking over our shoulders every minute for assassins.

I didn’t think that meant we’d be here in Oklahoma trying to buy some new wheels off a man in a parking lot.

I didn’t think we would be here, in this desert with no rivers.

My husband is offering to buy the car with a gold coin. Yes — a coin . Which apparently is a very valuable thing to have.

I’m made because he didn’t tell me a damn thing. Not until it was time to throw some bags in the back of the car and get out of our holler like bats out of hell.

Two days ago, I thought we would wake up in our bed in Mulberry, burdened with the usual things: Bills, repairs, the new baby, Sebastian working for the hillbilly mafia boss that everybody said was about to get hemmed up by the Feds.

Trouble, but the normal kind.

Instead, Sebastian sprung this mess on me like it was a tropical vacation. Which he promises me we’ll take, someday, once things “cool off”.

I bounce our baby Skyla up and down and glare at the redheaded bastard, my husband, while praying to God we won’t all be dead before tomorrow. We are stranded miles from home, on the run, and our old-ass car is ready to give it up to Glory. I didn’t know much about Oklahoma before today, but I know enough about it now to know I would like to leave as soon as possible.

“You got this where ?” ponders the mechanic standing between us and the car Sebastian wants, which is a ’95 Ford Taurus. He’s squinting at the coin through a little eyepiece, which I think is called a loupe. I never expected a man with those huge, rough hands to pull such a delicate thing from his pocket. Men are just full of surprises.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is a confederate ducat . Rare as a green goose. They only made six hundred of those,” the mechanic declares. He lowers the eyepiece to stare at Sebastian, then me. “I heard they only ever recovered one from the batch. Ah — family heirloom?”

Sebastian looks amused. But I only know that because he’s my husband, because his face mostly doesn’t change at all. In the same monotone he says, “Something like that.”

The man is shorter than Sebastian. He apparently runs this car shop, which looks as legit as a four-dollar bill. I see plates from Oregon, Nevada, Missouri and Washington littered all over the dusty lot. And we’re in the middle of nowhere.

There’s some rough-looking characters in the back of the shop, chain-smoking and staring at me and Skyla like they want to take our picture. Another day, my husband would have a big problem with that.

“No problem with that,” says Sebastian. His red hair flashes in the corner of my vision. “I’d do the same, in your shoes.”

I tune back in to the conversation.

The mechanic says, “The only one who tests gold is Sweet Lick, and he’s in town for the wedding, like everybody else.”

He says it like that. The Wedding. Capital T, capital W.

“You said his name is Sweet Lick ?” Sebastian echoes.

“Sweet Lick owns the Tippalonga Pawn shop, done so ever since his daddy died. He knows gold better than anybody. I’d like us to both be sure we aren’t wasting each other’s time.” The mechanic smiles.

“Any chance this Sweet — this fella , could come in today?”

“In a hurry, are you? Where are you coming from?”

“Virginia,” says Sebastian.

The mechanic glances at our plates. “You don’t say.”

“Yep.”

After a long pause, where my husband fills in no more details, the mechanic shrugs and says, “I can fit out your ride with some new plates if you’d like. Clean as a whistle. Hell, as long as the gold checks out, I’ll throw in some new tires. Sweet Lick will be back from the wedding…hm…well, I hear there’s an open bar, so any time between midnight and next morning.”

Sebastian flushes even redder, and he’s plenty red from the burning sun. “We can’t stay long,” he grunts.

“I reckon you ought to, ‘cause Tippalonga is more accepting than some other towns ‘round here,” the man says, his gaze sliding to me. “No sir, some folks ain’t as tolerant as we are here in Tippalonga.”

“Meaning, if I go to the next town with my wife, they’ll give us a hard time,” Sebastian says. “Is that what you’re saying to me?”

Just a little, the man shrinks. I don’t blame him. My husband is six- four, big as hell, with eyes like green laser beams.

“Ah, ah,” says Skyla in my arms.

“Shhh…Hush now, baby. See? See the bird?” A small fluffy bird flies past. It looks almost like an owl. I hug Skyla tighter. She’s soft and precious and my entire world. I would do anything for her. If anybody gives us a hard time, I’ll shoot them stone-motherfucking-dead.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, friend,” says the mechanic. “Would hate for your family to break down on some of these country roads and have a run-in with the rednecks.”

He looks like a redneck to me, but I’m quiet.

“I can handle myself,” says Sebastian.

The man lowers his voice still further, but I hear everything he says. “Last month, there was a kick-up with the Cimarron County police — that’s our neighbors — and a couple passing through. Couple like you and the Missus. Bad situation.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “The police, you say.”

“That’s what I told you. Steer clear of Cimarron. Terrible place. Murderers, Communists and Game Wardens. The worst scum known to man.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Sure, friend. I am real keen on that coin of yours if it’s the genuine article. Gold is the future, seeing as the dollar’s about to fold like a stack of cards.”

“Tomorrow then,” says my husband. “You tell Sweet Lick I’ll be here first thing.”

“Sure. Hey, you ought to stop by in town and watch the wedding. Our Reverend’s getting married. Big deal. And maybe you’ll run into Sweet Lick. In fact, I’m sure you will.”

“I hope I don’t run into anybody,” my husband says.

The mechanic smiles.

“You trust him?” I hiss as we walk out.

“I don’t trust anybody,” Sebastian says. “How is she?”

“Fine. She’s tired.”

“I know you’re tired, Dee.”

“Yes I am,” I snap. “I’m real, real tired.”

As we climb into the Crown Victoria that looks and smells like a musty hotel room, I try to stay calm. Sebastian’s barely said a sentence to me since he explained what he’d done (stolen Roman McCall’s gold) and what was going to happen (we run like the wind before Roman catches us).

I admit I didn’t take it well.

“Well, now what?” I demand.

“Now we get something to eat and find a place to sleep,” he says calmly. “How about that place we passed? Burger Palace? It’s near the motel.”

I would rather sleep and then eat, but I have to watch my diet according to the book I borrowed from the Florin Library, Motherhood for Young Mothers with no Parents and no Hope.

Since I’m a millionaire now, I’m hoping for a more positive outlook on life.

“Look on the bright side, Dee,” Sebastian says.

“What?”

“We’re in Oklahoma.”

We both burst out laughing.

We eat our hamburgers in the car. “We’ll sell a little at a time,” Sebastian explains. “Once we get to California, we’ll get Skyla her paperwork, cash in, and put everything in her name.”

“And what about Roman?” I ask. “That man said those coins were rare as a motherf — as hell.” I’m trying not to curse in front of Skyla, even if she’s too small to understand a thing. “Don’t you think, Sebastian, that if six hundred magical confederate coins hits the streets, it’s going to lead Roman straight to us?”

“Not everything in the box coins,” Sebastian reveals.

“Oh, really?”

I know where he keeps the money, but he hasn’t let me open the bag. He only handles the money with gloves, and rarely.

“We’ll sell some other items, and once we get a feel for it I’ll offload the coins to some private collectors. Or just melt ‘em. We won’t get the full cost, but gold is still gold,” he assures me.

“And what about us? Our identities? Taxes? Roman knows how to follow a paper trail.”

“We’ll put everything in Skyla’s name.”

“Listen to yourself,” I retort. “You’re making all these decisions for her before she can even talk! What if she doesn’t want to be a shield for her criminal parents?”

“Criminal?” Sebastian says harshly. “I’m setting her up for life. This is more than I could have given her if I was dead or in fuckin’ prison with Roman and the rest of ‘em.”

“Don’t cuss in front of Skyla!”

“Shit — I mean — damn it, Dee. You know we had no choice but to leave. Would you rather we left with nothing or something? I promise I won’t let anything happen to Skyla. I’ve thought it all out.”

“Maybe you could share some of your plans with me.”

“No. If we get swept up anyway, I want you to say that I forced you to come. That I held you up, threatened you — anything. Your name will be clear. If we both go to jail, Skyla gets taken away.” His voice is a clenched fist. “That won’t happen.”

“That gold wasn’t yours to take. You made me a thief, Sebastian, and I don’t like that.”

“You know how the McCalls got it in the first place?”

“Probably doing something evil,” I say. “If I had to take a guess.”

“Way back, we had an ancestor named Sinclair. He was a young captain in the war, fighting for the confederacy.”

“Naturally,” I say.

“Sinclair deserted and doubled back through the south as a roving bandit, robbing homesteads, ravishing widows who were left on their own when their husbands went to fight. Real piece of work. But he really strung a big un’ when he captured a stagecoach some army bigwig was using to smuggle gold out of Atlanta.”

My eyes widen. “All that?”

“Yes, Dee. Accompanying the gold were the general’s wife, daughter, and their slave maid.” Sebastian grimaces. “I’ll spare you the details. After Sinclair was done, they all lay dead, and he killed his associates for good measure. The bastard then went home to Florin, where he spent the rest of his days in high cotton. Nobody ever learned what evil he’d done, and he never so much as touched the treasure. Bastard was already a McCall — already rich. Didn’t need to.”

“That’s terrible!”

Sebastian nods. “He confessed it all on his deathbed to his only heir, who chose to leave the treasure intact. All this recorded in a journal that Duke McCall showed to Roman some years ago when he found it. There was always rumors circling in Florin about gold. This was the real thing.”

“And Roman told you all this?”

“He trusted me.” Sebastian covers the flash of guilt in his eyes, looking away.

“Look, Dee. That gold is a McCall fortune. And I’m the son of the McCall. Duke was my father, too. If Roman’s got the right to keep it for himself, then I have a right to do the same.”

“You aren’t the only McCall,” I fret. “It still feels like stealing. It doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s all these people do, Dee. Rob and cheat and kill each other. They can’t have enough land or money. Roman’s the worst. Talking up family and morals, but he’s killed and — I can’t tell you the half.” He exhales. “I won’t crash out on Roman’s behalf.” He looks down at Skyla. “And neither will my daughter. Neither will my wife .”

“So we’re spending money that some evil old confederate stole from widows and babies? That just sounds cursed.”

Sebastian hesitates.

“What?”

“There’s a rumor about the gold,” he begins.

“What rumor ?”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you. Nevermind.”

“Sebastian!”

“Alright, Dee. The story is that one reason McCall didn’t spend any of the gold is that it’s cursed.”

“ What ?” I shriek so loud heads turn.

“Keep your damned voice down, Dee. Family legend,” says Sebastian, using air quotes, “Says that you have to split the gold four ways to break the curse.”

“Why four?”

“I don’t know. But it’ll be fine. It’s all just superstition.”

“Yeah,” I say uncertainly.

“You’ll see,” says Sebastian, shaking his head. “Once we’re all set up in California, and you don’t have a thing to worry about, you’ll see it was all meant to happen.”

“I’d love to be in California right now,” I sigh.

He takes my hand, and his harsh gaze softens. “I know, Dee-dee.”

Uneasy, I look out the diner window at this dusty town. Tippalonga, Oklahoma.

Sebastian passes me a newspaper and asks, “Now, what do you think of this?”

Frowning, I read:

TIPPALONGA HERALD

A Holy Union in Tippalonga

Tippalonga’s own Reverend Wilson is to be wed to a young Ms. Whiteleaf in a grand celebration, the first interracial marriage of its prominence in Tippalonga County.

As the son of esteemed Grand Wizard Halberton Wilson, who headed the Tippalonga Klan for three decades, the announcement came as a surprise. That is, a surprise for anyone who does not know the good Reverend Wilson, a man of faith who has devoted his life to the church and building bridges across all barriers.

“It’s an honor to give our daughter to a man of such high esteem in Tippalonga,” remarked the mother of the bride, Mrs. Bettina Whiteleaf. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our Trina is a lucky girl.”

In response to backlash from liberal residents, the future mother-in-law added, “Trina knows I was only thirteen when I married her daddy. It’s perfectly normal for a man to be older than his wife.”

“Where in the cotton-picking hell are we?” I hiss, dropping the paper.

Sebastian chokes back a laugh. “Sorry. It ain’t funny. I know, Dee.”

“This place is worse than Clarksburg! They’re talking Klan business right in the open!”

“I figured that fella earlier was spinning a yarn. The way he was going on like this place is San Francisco, not full of ignorant hillbillies like us,” Sebastian agrees.

“Like you ,” I tell him. “I’m no hillbilly.”

“Sure,” he grins. “Well, if anyone troubles us, they’ll bite off more than they can chew, won’t they?”

“And that Mama. She’s terrible. I feel sorry for that poor girl,” I fume.

Sebastian shrugs. “She’ll be fine. I’ve heard of this Reverend Wilson fella.”

“You have ?”

“He’s one of them big time TV preachers. He’s got a fucking TV show. A helicopter, a yacht, a mansion — everything. That lady will be in high cotton and have you feeling sorry for her.”

“Money isn’t everything, Sebastian.”

“Yes it is, Dee, and anyone who denies it is kidding themselves.”

I look down at Skyla. Imagine selling my baby girl to some dirty old man in the church. I don’t understand how some people think. Sometimes I don’t understand how my own husband thinks. Of course, I know his rationale comes from a desire to protect us. But sometimes…

I look at the future bride’s picture in the newspaper. She is young, Black, and very pretty. She has a lot of hair, more than I would know what to do with. And she wears it natural. I squeeze my fuzzy locks together and lift them off my neck. They definitely don’t keep me cool in this weather.

“I can’t believe they’re selling this pretty girl to the son of the local Klan leader. We really are living in some different times.”

“We shouldn’t take any chances of breaking down around here,” Sebastian says, ambivalent to the struggles of a stranger. “We’ll need to get out of here by tomorrow.”

“Every time I see Virginia plates from here to California, I’ll be losing my mind,” I sigh.

I look down at Skyla.

“I’d die for you both. Don’t forget that,” my husband says. “I love you, Dee.”

He’s not a man of many words. But I know his heart. Every word he speaks is true. He might hold back from me, but he never lies.

Dinggg…Dong…

“Do you hear that?” I frown.

Church bells.

“I’ll be damned,” says Sebastian, squinting at the newspaper I just pushed aside. “They’re marrying her today, Dee.”

“Want to go meet Sweet Lick ?” I suggest.

We look at each other and laugh.