Authors: Edward Lazellari
The detective stopped talking. Cal looked up to find a victorious Cheshire grin on the man. It was Cal’s face that now betrayed him, revealing his thoughts to the detective, beaming with pride and even some moisture around his eyes. Danel—Daniel’s character had been tested through hardship and tragedy and came through intact.
“He’s a lot better off with us,” Cal said.
“Bunk. He’s better off with
neither
of you,” Dretch insisted. “If Dorn doesn’t kill him, his reward is to become the bull’s-eye in a political battle back in never-never land. The other side will never stop trying to kill him. His own people will prop him up and try to control him—tell him what to eat and who to fuck. They won’t even let him pick his own wife. Who in their right mind would ever want to inherit a throne? The only king who ever has fun on a throne is the one who earned it—by sword or cunning. The hand-me-downs are just grief for the heirs.”
“His parents would be touched by your concern,” Cal said.
Dretch was right, though. Daniel’s life would not be his own. Still, he was the only prince Aandor had, and it needed to be the boy’s choice. If the detective had formed a fondness for the boy, then Daniel meeting his true parents was something Dretch couldn’t deny him. Not after the life he’s had.
“I have to look out for myself,” Colby said, getting back to basics. “Just meeting with you can get me killed. Look,” he said, pointing to his disassembled phone, “I have no idea what tricks these wizards can pull. I only risked this because my guys seem off balance at the moment, and they’ve left me a long leash. Who knows when that could change? I’m meeting with them tonight—I have to tell them something. Do you have what I need?”
Cal looked toward Seth, who was whittling intently.
The witless whittler—so much for a lookout,
he thought. He whistled to get Seth’s attention. Cal met him halfway, out of Dretch’s hearing range.
“S’up,” Seth said, failing to be cool.
“They took Dretch’s heart,” Cal said.
Seth looked at Colby in the distance and then to Cal. “He’s one of
those
guys?”
“Yeah. Wants to know if we can put it back?”
“How should I know?” Seth said.
“Call her, idiot.”
Seth dialed Lelani and explained the situation. He listened to her response and hung up. “A wizard can’t undead somebody,” he said.
God!
Cal thought.
How do I leverage a desperate pissed-off dead man?
He fingered the butt of his pistol more as a nervous habit than a call to action.
“But…,” Seth continued, “in theory, a wizard working with someone called a prelate or an augur can do it. What the heck’s an augur?”
“You could have started with that information,” Cal said, irritated.
“That’s how they talk on
CSI
.”
Cal returned to Dretch.
“Does Dorn have a cleric with him?” he asked.
“Not following…”
“A priest. A druid, a prelate, an auger?”
“There’s no one remotely priestly in that lot.”
“Then Dorn’s bullshitting you. He can’t reverse your condition. Any wizard can take away your life, but only a wizard working with a cleric can put you back together.”
Dretch looked forlorn, very much as Cal imagined he would at the news.
“Do you have a priest?” Dretch asked, desperately.
“Yes,” Cal lied, though it was only a half lie. They just hadn’t seen him in thirteen years. “On that list Dorn gave you to track us down … Allyn Grey is Prelate Grey of the temple of Pelitos.”
“You’re not lying, are you?” Cal didn’t feel the need to work too hard trying to convince the man. Dretch had suspected this all along or he wouldn’t be in this park talking to them.
“What do you think?” was Cal’s only response.
Looking into Colby’s cold dead eyes, he knew the detective believed him. Now, if they could only confirm that Allyn was still alive.
CHAPTER 19
OFF THE PONDEROSA …
Jeb’s general store at the entrance of the trailer park was the only one within walking distance of Bev’s home. They were in the middle of farmland, miles from the closest town. Daniel intended to make dinner that night as a way to thank Beverly for her kindness—and in a sick, guilty way, for the affections of her daughter, though Bev hadn’t a clue. He left the safety of his “home” and took a long route winding through the park to stretch his legs, the coolness of the weather tempered by the late afternoon sun. Seeing the different nooks and circles in the park gave him a good sense of who his neighbors were. More importantly, it got him away from Luanne for a spell. His brain was still floating from her scent—she was the living embodiment of nitrous oxide. He was so stupidly happy around her, breathing in everything and ogling her bumps and curves that he was grateful he was not going to school down here for fear of ending up in remedial classes from lack of focus.
Making dinner served a second purpose … it also ensured their meal would be palatable. On this last thought, Daniel realized his actions were self-serving on every level. Was that what drove everyone?
Clyde, Rita, Principal Conklin, Katie Millar, Luanne—everyone’s first impulse was to do for him- or herself. Satisfaction was the product of selfish acts. So was safety; the tribe demanded it. An unselfish act on behalf of his friend is what caused him more trouble than he ever imagined. Fighting Adrian’s battles for him cost him his freedom and future. Arrested at thirteen for battery and sued by the Grundy boys’ trashy parents. That mess, combined with discovering his stepfather’s affair because he went to help Katie Millar, despite her rejection of him, escalated into Clyde wanting to beat the crap out of Daniel when he got home—and that incident led to Clyde’s death. It was a simplified account of events, but his thoughts looped over those last few days, wondering what might have been if he’d just minded his own damn business.
Maybe Clyde was right to get upset at the way Daniel poked his nose into everything. Adults seemed to know that self-interest and minding your own business were the cornerstones of cohabitation and self-preservation. It made Daniel suspicious of Colby’s motivations for helping him.
Friendship
was becoming a thinner excuse the more time passed. They’d only met a few days ago … How could they possibly be friends? Why would Colby risk jail to help Daniel avoid capture? What was in it for him, if not a way to use Daniel at some future point?
Jeb’s was a ramshackle, hastily slapped together structure of wood and aluminum sheets, about as big as a double-wide, just inside the gate of the park. The park’s fence only extended about fifty yards in each direction, backed by some sorry-looking bushes that ran along the inside of it. All someone had to do to get into the park was walk toward the farm next door and around the end of the fence. The blacktop from the state road ended at the gate—the trailer park roads were dirt and gravel, lined with weeds. The more industrious residents had gardens around their homes.
A dusty police cruiser sat parked in front of the store. Daniel hovered back behind a trailer waiting for the cop to leave. Colby assured him being two states away and in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere was relatively safe, but there was no point in taking chances. All he needed to ruin his life was one ambitious country cop looking for a promotion. He studied the trailers on this side of “town” while he waited, kicking the occasional large pebble from its bed. Some took pride in their dwelling—decorating their home with curtains, gardens, fresh paint; they lived beside folks for whom a pigpen would be a step up. These were mostly single trailers around the park entrance—
where the po’ folks lived,
as Luanne would say. Daniel had forty dollars left to his name, so he must be one of the “po’.” These were his people.
The sky was the color of bluebird eggs, crisp with a late autumn’s cold. There was a lot of sky around these parts. The land was flat in all four directions, with only the occasional silo or barn to break the monotony. The park was
tornado bait
—something a classmate had once said about their proximity to natural disasters. The cop came out of Jeb’s with a doughnut stuffed in his mouth and a bottle of Coke in one hand and a white paper bag in the other hand. He got into the cruiser, pulled out onto the state road, and peeled off like a man saturated with processed sugar. Daniel climbed creaky steps and entered.
Daniel’s senses were assaulted by the schizophrenic nature of Jeb’s wares. The pungent, mingled odors of beef jerky, laundry soap, dairy goods (not all fresh), women’s hygiene products, colas, candy, beer, tobacco, and sawdust merged like a dysfunctional symphony, baked into the wooden shelves and particle floorboards by years of Carolina heat. Daniel picked up some Kraft Mac & Cheese boxes, hotdogs, buns, relish, two liters of Coke, and some cans of peas for color. As he laid the items on the glass counter, he spotted a condom display underneath the glass. It just occurred to him that Luanne might be crazy enough to not be on birth control. That’s all he needed. He couldn’t even support himself. Daniel pointed to a box of Trojans to be thrown on the pile.
The steps creaked louder as he exited, under the extra weight of the bags. Daniel’s foot just touched the dirt when he noticed Cody and two other guys leaning on the Caddy DeVille at Jeb’s corner. One of the toadies was thin with long greasy blond hair and wearing a black Slayer tee under his denim jacket. He seemed especially jittery. The other was tall and solid, with close-cropped nappy red hair and shoulders that drooped from a lifetime of hunching. They loitered between Daniel and Bev’s trailer. Daniel hoped these grassroots capitalists would be too preoccupied with their ventures to notice him, but since when had his luck ever run that good?
“Hey,” Cody said, as Daniel walked by.
Daniel stopped beside the hoods and turned casually to face them. Cody leaned against the passenger door, lighting a cigarette.
“Hey,” Daniel said back matter-of-factly.
“Interested in some rock?”
Daniel wasn’t sure of the subtext. It might be a straightforward offer. “Not particularly,” he said. “Thanks, though.” Politeness was always a plus in the South, even with death-metal, gun-toting meth dealers.
“Where you from?”
“Up north.”
“I know you’re from up north. Where?”
Daniel weighed the risk of telling the guy to go fuck himself and ending up in a fight that might bring cops to the park or send him to the emergency room. He wasn’t a good enough liar to make up a story. Who knows where Cody’s business ventures have taken him? “Baltimore,” he said. It was mostly true. Glen Burnie was a suburb.
“Yeah?” Cody said. “What’s the best crab place?”
“Obrycki’s,” Daniel said. At least that’s the one his mom liked best, so they went there.
Cody took a drag and blew smoke. Daniel got the sense that he’d passed the first test.
“Why you stayin’ with Luanne?”
“I’m not staying with Luanne,” Daniel said. “I’m staying with Bev. She’s my friend’s sister and is putting us up for a few days. Luanne also lives with Bev.”
Cody’s expression didn’t change, but Daniel sensed annoyance at the way he successfully skirted the question. “Why you drawin’ pictures of her?” he asked. Another drag. More smoke.
“Bored. She doesn’t have any books, no videogames in the house; nothing to do around here. Did you happen to see the twelve other drawings in that pad you tore up that had nothing to do with Luanne? Why’d I draw the lake? Why’d I sketch a tree?”
Cody took a drag, blew it out, and spit really close to Daniel’s sneaker.
“You hangin’ out with a fifty-year-old bum and his sister … no mom, no dad. Seems shady.”
Daniel was tired of playing twenty questions. “Why you hanging out in front of the store with your car?” he asked back.
“None of your business,” the greasy blond kid said.
“Exactly,” Daniel responded.
The three of them came off the car slowly in unison. This was their turf—no one was going to tell them to mind their own business in their corner of the trailerverse. Cody did his best to give Daniel the cold dead-eye stare. Daniel ignored the other two and locked onto Cody’s stare. Daniel refused to budge or blink in the face of this pretender. After all, Cody had never killed anyone and Daniel had. The meth head blinked first, looking down into the shopping bag. He shot his arm into the bag and pulled out the box of Trojans.
“What the fuck is this?!” he asked.
Shit.
“They’re for Bev,” Daniel lied, thinking fast on his feet.
“That old cow’s dried up,” Cody said. This time his stare had an edge to it. “You hopin’ to get lucky with someone?”
“Maybe Bev’s beau has VD,” Daniel said, trying to act like he didn’t care. “Or maybe she’s giving them to Luanne. What do I know? She asks, I buy.”
A black Cadillac Escalade pulled into the trailer park with music blaring loudly. Four young men poured out. Cody’s attention switched to them swiftly, as though danger had arrived. The leader of the other crew, a tall, blocky lad with pink ears and pink neck approached. He wore a black leather vest over a striped flannel shirt, boot-cut jeans, and a huge silver buckle. The other two looked like off-the-shelf southern white guys, the type you’d forget two minutes after they left; the fourth guy was a skinny geek type with a Bluetooth in his ear and an open laptop computer that he cradled with one hand and typed into with the other. Daniel was caught between the crews.
Daniel tried to slink away and allow the men to talk business. Cody grabbed his arm and held him firm. “We ain’t done,” he grumbled.
“That’s no way to treat a customer, Cody,” said big belt buckle.
“This our park, McCoy,” Cody’s greasy blond lackey stressed.
“Don’t get your panties in an uproar, Weasel. We going into Jeb’s to get some smokes is all.” The geek was talking into his Bluetooth, confirming a delivery for that night.
“’Sides, we don’t need to come here to sell. Yo’ folk come to us to get product. Walk five miles to buy rock from me.” McCoy jerked his thumb toward Bluetooth guy, and added, “We doin’ business the modern way—on the interweb.”