Racing the Moon (3 page)

Good man. Yeah. Now, they just had to slip out the back door, which wasn't so much a door as a short... tunnel. Lord, the surf bum was gonna
hate
that. Really, it was just wiggle like a worm and pop out the other side. Surely he could handle that. Sonny made his way to the back of the cabin, moving a stack of boxes aside and jerking his head.

MJ slipped over, face going sheer, honest-to-God grey when he saw the door, head shaking just a little.

Sonny put his free hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing. It was their best chance. He'd heard Lloyd Freeman's voice. That son of a bitch's father owned the logging camp. He'd as soon shoot them as look at them.

He thought for sure the man was gonna balk, but those lips were moving, mouthing 'Okay, okay' over and over. Then MJ moved, pushing fast like the hounds of hell were after him.

He had to trust that the man was smart enough not to pop out like a weasel and run. They needed the distraction. He made a split-second assessment. Set it before he left, or toss the cocktail through the window...? No. Set it before he left. He splashed the 'shine across the floor, using the cloth as a wire to set it off. Then he wiggled out through the hole backward, flicking his damned lighter at the very last minute.

The fucking cabin went up in a crackle and a whoosh, the surprised hollers turning to screams right off. Goddamn, but that bitch could burn. He didn't bother looking back, just followed that fast son of a bitch away from the scene.

There was no way he could get to his shipment now.

Thank God he had a reserve of cash in a safe deposit box in Asheville. He'd set up shop somewhere else. And he'd damned well take this failed mess out of MJ's hide as a reward for his good behavior.

***

Goddamnmotherfuckerprick.

Asshole.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

MJ moved through the fading sunlight like death itself was on his heels, which, theoretically, it was, but thinking that way blew the hell out of that whole power of positive thinking thing his mother was always going on about, and he couldn't fucking have that.

Hell, no.

Positive thinking.

He was going to get his happy ass
out
of this forest.

He was going to get to his 'stang.

He was going to run that big, pushy bastard over twice
without
damaging the axle.

Then he was going to the beach.

In Maui.

For a fucking
month
.

Positive thinking.

Positive thinking wasn't what was bearing down on his ass, though. Or what was shooting at them every so often. Thank God it was easier to run through these fucking pines than it was to ride a four-wheeler.

A pine tree branch very nearly took his head off. Sonny grabbed the back of his neck and pushed down, keeping them moving into the lower branches, which was a good tactical move but hell on the skin. Man, he'd thought working water jobs was a bitch.

Hell, if he'd planned this part of the job, he would've at least cut a fire break around the cabin. God knew how many endangered species were getting crispy-fried.

"Come on, Precious. Pick 'em up and put 'em down." Okay, shooting or no, he was going to kill this man.

The thought soothed him, from his sore throat, to his aching head, to his back. Yeah. First MJ'd beat him with a tire iron. Then the 'stang. Then maybe set him on fire. After fucking the grin out of him.

Whoa.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Okay. Okay, man.
So
going to Maui.

Just about the time he thought that, the world went out from under his feet and he went ass over teakettle, rolling down a pine needle and rock slope. He landed at the bottom against a damned tree. Sonny landed on top of him.

Ow.

"There is no way I'm only taking fifteen for this fucking job." He shoved Sonny off, wincing as pine shit poked him half to death.

"No, you need to get enough to pay me for my fucking shipment." Cussing up a storm, Sonny sat up, a cut on the side of his bald head bleeding freely. "You'd best have transport somewhere, Precious."

"I told you I had a car. I'm not the one who blew that place to kingdom come." Asshole. Like he was sharing his take. He was more apt to pistol-whip the bastard.

"Good." The asshole got up, and damned if he didn't go pale under the days of stubble and the tan. "Oh, fuck-a-duck."

"What?" Oh, man. He knew that look. Knew it. The bastard was hurt or he'd eat powdered rhino horn.

The expression hardened. "Not a goddamned thing. Come on, Precious. Let's go. I've got an appointment with a shower and a branch of NCNB."

"I got pain meds in here, when you get tired of faking it." He started moving again, all tall, dark and unpleasant.

"Fuck you."

Oh, he didn't think so. "I don't bottom, asshole. That's your job."

Oh, great. He was down to jabs about fucking.

"Nope. The last guy who tried to get me to ate his teeth. I top, Precious. Period."

Well, at least now he knew which way that wind blew. Leave it to him to find the only gay redneck in the forest. "Well, they taught an ape to do sign language. There's still hope for you and your ass."

Wait. Did that make sense? Shit.

Whether it did or not didn't matter when a shot pinged over their heads and dug deep into a tree about six feet away. Jesus, those assholes were determined. Sonny zigged instead of zagged, and MJ just managed to stagger out of the way as the man's left leg crumpled, sending him down hard.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

MJ shoved Sonny over, grabbing a roll of netting from his pack and draping it over the writhing form. "You fucking stay still or I will kill you where you lay."

Then he stripped off his shirt, crouched and waited, sidearm at the ready. He was not going to be taken by a bunch of fucking hillbillies. That was not how this shit was going to end. Sonny went absolutely still, not even a breath to give him away. Good. That was good.

The sound of a gunned engine came clear and angry, like a swarm of bees, and sure enough the ATV broke the ridge, bumping down toward them.

He waited for his shot, relaxed, easy for the first time in too long. The first bullet took the driver in the shoulder, the second took the left front tire. That was all it needed. That little ATV went rolling, men looking like rag dolls as they were bumped and thrown.

Man, that was going to be sore in the morning.

He snorted. They all were. Sonny popped up from under his net like a jack-in-the-box, face set in hard lines of pain, but looking determined. "Out. Let's get the fuck out."

MJ grabbed his net and his shirt, rolling them up as they moved. "Do you know where the fuck we are? I'm parked near Stoney Creek, where 52 meets 74."

Squinting those near-black eyes, Sonny looked around, nodded. "Then we need to go about a mile and a half. That way."

Uphill. Of course.

His mother always told him he was born under an auspicious star. Unfortunately, the damned thing read, 'Fuck with me'. "Well, if you're coming with me, let's hustle."

"I'm right behind you, man. Move it or lose it."

He'd lost enough in the last twenty-four hours or so to last a while. "Be nice or I'll forget why I haven't shot your ass yet."

He fucking hated hills.

"Oh, because I
gave
you your gun back so you wouldn't be unarmed when they started shooting at us, dickhead?" The tenor of Sonny's breathing told him a lot about how much pain the guy was in, but he kept up.

"Well, if you didn't do naughty things, Sunshine, the bad men wouldn't come to shoot you."

"If you hadn't fucked up the only escape route, I would be long gone." They were going in circles. Well, at least in conversation. In their trotting, they were heading straight uphill. It took them about a half hour, but damned if they didn't make his car. Sunshine had a good sense of direction.

The 'stang was there, black and pristine and fast as anything. "Oh, that is just what I need to see."

Man. Sun. Sand. Sea. A hotel room with a hot shower and tequila from room service.

"Hell, yes. Nice ride." Sonny was drenched, pupils dilated.

"Come on, man." He shook his head. Fuck. He'd give the man a couple of Vicodin and drive a few hundred miles.

"Thanks." That was probably the most sincere thing he'd heard out of Sonny's mouth the whole time. That and the heartfelt groan as Sonny settled into the passenger seat.

He pulled out his keys and his stash, handing over three pills. "Vicodin. They'll take the edge off until I can look at it. I imagine you're not the hospital type and I'm not playing field medic with those bastards this close."

MJ didn't wait for Sonny to answer; he just turned on the radar detector and floored it.

"I'll live." Sonny nodded, popping the pills and leaning his head back, hat long gone, face looking like he'd been through a war.

"Good. Dead men are hard to explain. Even in Wilmington."

Chapter Three

Sonny shifted, cursed the whole fucking world. He hadn't broken that ankle, but he knew a torn tendon when he felt one. His whole leg felt like it was on fire, his foot and ankle swollen impossibly.

They'd stopped in Asheville, even though he'd had to threaten MJ a little to get him to do it. But he had his new ID and his stash of money, along with a .45. As soon as they'd gotten back to the 'stang, he'd taken off his boot, so they wouldn't have to cut it off later. Nearly six hours of riding later, he woke up, groggy as hell, and hurting so hard he gritted his teeth on a moan.

"You need another pill, man?" It was black as pitch outside, and MJ's eyes were a little wild. He must've taken something to keep him running. "We'll be at the place in about half an hour."

"No. No more or I'll get all pukey. Can only take so much of the shit before I start." Damn it. He shouldn't have wasted that 'shine on setting a fire. Oh, to have that truck he'd left sitting in the woods. Ah, well, he'd call Woody, tell him where it was. If he wanted it, he could have it.

"'Kay." The music throbbed, something raucous, deep and irritating. Not as irritating as the way MJ's leg jittered, over and over and over.

"What the fuck did you take, man? You shoulda woke me. I can do irritating as well as this crap music." Might as well needle the man to take his mind off the pain.

"Well I don't have Dueling Banjos on CD, so I just sort of made do with what I had."

"Oh, damn. That's my favorite." He drawled out the 'a' in 'favorite', really letting the Alabama out in his voice. Shithead. Goddamn, he hated smug, high-falutin' California boys. Even pretty ones.

"Next time? We can use your vehicle for the getaway car and you can pick the radio station." They pulled off the highway, MJ reaching over him to pull a cell phone from the glove compartment. It didn't take a second to plug that bitch into the cigarette lighter and then MJ started talking.

"Yeah. It's me. No. No, it didn't. Yeah. I want the fucking money wired and I want it now. No. Now. I'm not waiting another two days in the cottage. You have until noon tomorrow."

Nice. Son of a bitch did commanding almost as well as he did. Sonny grinned, waiting for MJ to hang up before grabbing the phone and dialing Woody's number. His own phone was crushed somewhere at the bottom of some hill in Appalachia.

"Woody. That thing in the truck I left in that place? You can go get it, make the delivery. Keep the change." He hung up after leaving the brief message, not wanting to take any chances.

"No, man. I don't mind if you borrow my phone." They slowed down as they got closer to the little beach rentals, moving right through Wilmington proper, MJ squinting. "Fuck. Which road is it...?"

"Where are we going?" He might remember, though it had been years since he'd been there.

"There's a little cabin. Not ugly. Bought it fucking forever ago... It used to be blue." MJ kept muttering, then those eyes went wide. "Fucking A. Andover Street. Andover to Gregory."

"There. Andover. Left." One thing he could do was read signs. Sonny grunted as he smacked against the passenger door.

"Oops. Sorry. Little buzzed. Property manager broad said she'd stock the fridge, clean sheets. Towels and shit." They made the left on Gregory on two wheels. Christ.

He scanned the street, getting close to the end of town, way out. "There. Is that it?"

"Yep. Porch light and everything. We'll park in the back."

They swung around, the little carport waiting there for them. The 'stang's engine got cut and they sat there for half a minute, breathing.

He just...man. He had to move. If nothing else, he had to pee. "Man, can you stop bouncing a minute and come help me out?"

"I'm not bouncing. Asshole." MJ bebopped out of the car and came around, pulling the door open and holding out one bruised-up hand. "Come on."

Sonny grabbed MJ's wrist and levered himself out of the low-slung car, panting a little as he teetered. Fuck. Fucking goddamned fuck. He nearly tossed his cookies, ended up standing there, head down, breathing hard.

"Shit. Breathe, man. I can't carry your ass and my equipment." MJ came up under his arm, hand wrapping around his hip. "Tell me when to go, and we'll hobble you in."

He nodded, just resting a minute, jonesing on the feel of that sturdy body against his. Then he took a couple of deep breaths through his nose. "Okay, let's go."

They moved pretty easy; MJ was stronger than he looked, steadying him as they walked through the fine sand. MJ pulled a key out, popped the door without a word, and ushered him in. Man, the place wasn't bad, wasn't bad at all.

In fact it was a fucking hot pad, compared to what it looked like outside. He got a mixed-up impression of chrome mixed with more earthy shit like willow bark and canvas before MJ plopped him down on a bright-red sofa and left him there.

Man, he didn't know how big the fucking trunk was on that Mustang, but five huge-assed bags came in, toted right down the hall without a word. Then Blondie came back with a bag, dropped it at his feet and started locking up. "You want a soda or a beer before I look at your foot?"