Kay Pulaski nudged the old man in the shoulder. They sat in his gray Chevrolet Silverado in the Quik-Stop parking lot. “What about the big blue one?”
“By pump three?” asked Eddie Morrison. “Yeah, she might do. Good eye.”
The blue truck jacked up an extra ten inches on thick off-road wheels had the right stickers on the windows. The red Ruger hawk circular decal, a Don’t Tread on Me snake cut in pieces, and the rebel flag stacked over an American flag in black. Shiny tool lockbox in the bed of the pickup. The whole blue truck gleamed with polish. Even the tires had a high sheen to them.
“Ain’t no work truck. It’s a show truck for some wannabe. Wannabes have low self-esteem. Need lots of toys to compensate. Let me know when you see him.”
Kay nodded. She knew everything he said. Old man just liked to hear his thoughts out loud. She didn’t get crusty about it. She liked his voice. Black coffee, bourbon, and age had given it the right gravelly effect. Repetition only engrained his lessons.
“Wannabe five o’clock.”
Morrison perked up and watched a tall man with wavy blond hair and potbelly under one of those shiny golf shirts come walking across the asphalt towards pump three. A giant Styrofoam cup full of soda sweating in his hand. His skinny legs had a lot of room in his blousy slacks to strut. Big expensive sunglasses with polarized blue lenses.
“I should buy you those glasses.”
Morrison touched the arm of his cheap aviators. “Mine work fine and if I flatten them with my bony ass, I ain’t out three hundred dollars.”
The wannabe hitched himself up into his F-150. He almost spilled his drink but caught it at the last second. Pushed the lid back on and licked his fingers clean. His door shut, he checked his hair in the rearview mirror and started the truck. Bah-room. Bah-room.
Morrison chuckled. “This guy must have the smallest dick in the county.”
“Or think he does.” Kay wouldn’t mind a cold soft drink right now. Dr. Pepper, maybe. Morrison didn’t believe in air-conditioning. Made you soft.
“True. The mind can be a powerful ally or your worst enemy.” He popped his tongue. “You really should be writing down these words of wisdom.”
She tapped her forehead. “I keep them gems all safe up here.”
“I ain’t going to be around forever, is all.” He coughed and spat out his window.
“Are you going to around long enough to drive because the wannabe is pulling out of the lot while you learn me a thing or two?”
He laughed. “Couldn’t lose this peacocking wannabe with my eyes closed.”
He followed after the blue truck in his Silverado at a pace not too fast and not too slow. Just like he did everything else in his life. Kay found herself emulating him ever since they met outside a Dollar Tree where he noticed her shoplifting. He was a piece of work four years ago, and he was a piece of work now. And he wouldn’t be around forever. A lesson learned before she met Morrison. At least, he was honest with her.
They caught up to the big blue truck a little way down busy Shelbyville Road. It was halfway through rush hour in Louisville, and this was a busy vein of traffic. Wannabe took a right onto Hubbards Lane without a turn signal. They went about a mile and crossed some train tracks, getting caught at a stoplight before crossing Westport Road.
Wannabe in the blue truck drove aggressively fast, oblivious to being followed. No one but the occasional paranoid individual believes they are being followed. Kay had begun to recognize other people on the hunt like her and Morrison. Certain drivers with hunter eyes pursuing weak marks not paying attention to their surroundings. She wasn’t sure how recognizing shared traits with these predators made her feel, but she felt a butterfly flap in her stomach.
“Jesus,” said Morrison as the blue truck took a sharp left without slowing down onto Hillside Lane. It was so abrupt he had to continue down Hubbards before turning around and coming back.
“We’ll spot that peacock.”
“Unless he’s pulled into a garage.”
“Negative thoughts…” He started.
“Bring negative action.” She tapped her forehead. “Told you I got them all written down in here.”
“I reckon you do.” He slowed their truck as they came to a two-way veer. “Right is the path of virtue. Left is the path of darkness.”
She pointed left, and Morrison drove accordingly. This road was called Twinbrook. Maybe there was a brook nearby, but she didn’t hear any running water out her window. The houses here were well kept made in the seventies ranch and tri-levels. Lawns were well-manicured, most by lawn services. The houses were not luxury but this land location was.
Kay craned her neck, checking every driveway on her right side. “I could get out and walk around if you want.”
“Patience. We ain’t even seen every house yet.” When they suddenly came to an unmarked dead end. “Shit.”
She grabbed the door handle, ready to get out. He shook his head. “Guess we can find another fish back at the convenient store.”
Morrison drove into the last house at the dead end’s driveway to turn around, and when he did, she caught a flash of blue. She slapped the dashboard. “There it is.”
The end of the chrome bumper stuck out from the corner of the orange brick ranch house. He continued his turning around and they both took in the house in their rearview mirror. He sighed. “It’s good but not a lot of places to sit and watch. Lot of nosy neighbors and only one exit.”
She said, “It’s a quiet dead end with little traffic. I like it.”
“Well, you’ll be the one going in, so I guess we’ll try it.” He pulled over on the side of the road. “We’ll watch a little before we leave. Give me one of those Big Reds.”
She reached behind the extended cab of their pickup, fishing a Big Red out of the small cooler. He thanked her, and as he drank the red soda, he choked on a cough. He covered his mouth with an old paper towel from the seat. He caught her observing him. “Put them eagle eyes on the house girly.”
She did as he asked and settled in for a little reconnaissance. The constant cough of her mentor distracting her but not stopping her from their task.
They had gotten back to Morrison’s house after seven o’clock in the evening after grabbing some burgers on the way home. It was cloudy but still a little balmy. They ate on the sun-worn picnic table in his backyard. He drank another Big Red. Built like a man-sized hummingbird, she guessed he needed all the sugar water he could consume in a day. He didn’t touch his food, not even the salty fries. She had four sliders with cheese and devoured all of them.
Between sips, he said, “We’ll take what we get tomorrow to Stussy on Friday.”
“Assuming we get anything.”
“Minimum, I’m guessing at least two Glock’s, an AR-15. Lots of ammo.” He finished his burgers, wadded up the wrappers, and threw them in the bag.
She had already finished her sliders and took his bag with hers to the outdoor garbage can. When she came back, he was stretching a little. “Stussy planning to lowball you again?”
“Good business, ain’t it. Screw the working man. Pass costs onto the consumers. Learned those economic tidbits working in Tillman’s factory all those years.”
“But we’ll make enough, right?”
“Nothing is ever enough, but we’ll be fine.” He leaned a hand on her thick shoulder. “I’m going inside. Want to watch me yell at the jackasses on the Wheel of Fortune?”
She shook no. “Going to draw some then turn in early.”
“Smart.” He was at the concrete porch steps. “You’ll say no for the hundredth time, but do you want to sleep in my spare room tonight? Awful humid out.”
Another shake of her head. “I’m good.”
He nodded with a little smile and opened his door to go inside. “Goodnight.”
She went back to the concrete cinder block garage painted white. On the right side, there was a door in the rear leading to a small room off the main garage. It connected to the two-car bay with an interior door. There was one window. Once inside, she got a small fan, opened the window, and stuck it carefully in the frame facing to blow the hot air out. She flipped it on and then got another bigger box fan to cool her space.
A few nine by twelve-inch sheets of drawing paper with her manga sketches were taped to the wall. A big couch with a University of Kentucky blanket took up the majority of the little room. She kept soft drinks and water cool inside a mini-fridge Morrison had bought her. A small table in the corner she fashioned into her drawing desk. She had a cheap Chromebook from Walmart she watched shows on and used for online stuff. She knew the bed in the house would be more comfortable, but she didn’t feel right sleeping in his dead son’s room.
Kevin went off to serve a tour in the Army. Morrison said he was excited for his big adventures overseas. He was always a patriotic kid growing up. Morrison’s wife was already gone, and he would be lonely, but he was proud his son was leaving for a higher purpose. Kevin never made it out of boot camp. He had an undiagnosed heart condition and died while on a training hike.
Morrison had taken an early retirement not soon after from Tillman Electric. He couldn’t stand to be around people anymore. All the inane conversation and gossip. The empty work on the line of bolt-in your piece then pulled a cord. His pension was just enough for him to get by till it wasn’t. That’s when he became an outlaw entrepreneur.
He was over seventy now. Strength and stamina slipping every year. It’s why he brought her into the fold. Their chance meeting at the Dollar Tree was a sign from above, he said. The diminutive old cuss felt her bicep, and she almost cold-cocked him. Said she was as broad as his late son. An offer to make more money than shoplifting. She thought it was a sex thing and reared back her fist.
He backed up with hands raised and laughed out an apology. She let him buy her lunch at the closest McDonalds. At a table in the rear of the restaurant, away from prying ears, he gave her his recruitment pitch. Come steal guns with him, and he would cut her in for half of what he made selling them to his buyer. She nodded her head when she dipped her last French fry in ketchup. A partnership was born.
At first, he just used her as a tool, but it grew deeper for both of them. An offering of her to stay in the house fell flat but she asked if the room at the rear of the garage was available. Their symbiotic relationship was beneficial. Kay was a good listener, and he had over seventy years of lessons he needed to unfurl one conversation at a time. Neither one shared their secrets.
She sat down on the couch and opened her drawing pad. There was an opened letter for Eddie Morrison inside. She had taken the envelope when she was in his kitchen last week. A pile of mail on the table, but this one was all by its lonesome. He was always going on about paying attention to signs and intuition. Her gut told her to take the letter. It was already open, and she planned on returning it, but every night since she had taken it out and reread it.
It was a past-due bill from Lutheran’s East Hospital on blood work and other medical exams. The total was outrageous. His Medicaid paid for a small percentage, but the rest was to be paid by the patient. The tests the doctors ran were for lung carcinoma. She had looked the word up online. The answer she found troubled her.
She put the letter back in the envelope and tucked it between the pages of her sketchbook. She picked up her worn Sharpie marker and would draw big-eyed warrior women fighting giant robots till her mind got drifty enough. She would then turn in for the night, hoping for sweatless dreams and not hot nightmares about her friend’s suffering.
They were sitting up the way on Hillside Lane a few houses up from the veer onto Twinbrook Road, waiting at 6:30 in the morning. Last night they had seen Mrs. Wannabe come home an hour after her husband in a white Ford Explorer. A young girl got out of the car too in a soccer uniform. They waited for a couple of more hours with no other vehicles pulling up. Kay pulled her walking routine and went around the neighborhood a couple of times to get a feel on foot.
A little after 8:00 am, they were sitting in a truck listening to a story on NPR about some strange disease affecting local birds, and people should stop feeding them till it subsided when she heard the thick growl of the big truck’s engine. Morrison had his head down like he was sleeping, but she saw a slight grin.
The blue truck didn’t even slow down at the stop sign and blew past their spot on Hillside. Kay saw his wet hair as he went by, mouthing the words to some song she couldn’t hear.
Morrison said, “The rooster has left the coop. Just need Mama hen and the baby chick out now.”
“What if she doesn’t work till later or at all? We should have watched the place for a couple of days like we usually do.” She plucked at the cracking rubber seal on the passenger window.
“If we see anything hinky, we’ll call it off. Trying to be efficient. Running out of time before we have to meet Stussy.”
“Then we back the meet off a day or two. We got plenty of time.”
“I’m doing it today!” he said, cutting her off. He reached across her and opened her door. “You can get out if you don’t trust me anymore.”
Kay was stunned. He had never had a short word with her or been physically aggressive. Maybe gruff but never angry. She got hot herself and slammed the door shut. She folded her arms across her chest but bit her tongue. Her eyes became small slits hiding the furnace inside. A furnace fired by anger but also largely from the shame she had let down her mentor.
He sputtered an apology right away. “Shouldn’t have barked. Your instincts are right. We should watch the house a couple of days, but I want to sell as many guns to Stussy as we can.”
“Are you short money?”
He picked his Styrofoam coffee cup out of the holder. “No. Nothing. I just got a feeling time is slipping away.”
“We get caught stealing, and time will seem as long as a coffin.”
He about spat his coffee out laughing. Still sore, she asked, “What’s so funny?”
“I must be rubbing off on you. You don’t talk no teenager.”
She grinned. “I talk like you.”
She was about to continue their argument when the wife’s white SUV came to a stop at Twinbrook and Hillside. She pointed at her. Morrison clucked his tongue. “I see Mama hen. You see the baby chick?”
The SUV pulled past them, and Kay saw a blond ponytail in the passenger seat. “Yeah, they’re both in the car.”
He checked his watch. “We’ll give them fifteen minutes in case someone forgot something.”
They had been waiting for over an hour already. This neighborhood should all be rousing and getting ready for the working day like their marks were. The fifteen minutes made her anxious for the task at hand. Breaking into a person’s home was an act of faith. To her, it was like walking on the moon not knowing when your air would run out. She enjoyed the sensation. Morrison had ruined her for mundane jobs like waitressing or teaching.
“Okay, time to make our money.”
Kay got out of the truck and zipped up her white painter coveralls while checking to see if anyone was watching. Next, she pulled the magnetic signs from behind her seat, attached one to the outside of her door, then crossed over to the driver’s side door and attached the other one. Colson Pest Control with an upside-down roach. The roach was supposed to be dead but, it could be sleeping as far as Kay could tell. These signs were from Morrison’s son’s old job before he left for the Army. He left an old spray bottle and his work coveralls.
Morrison wore the old coveralls even though it was a size and a half too big. The baggy material swallowed him up, but Kay never laughed at him out of respect for his late son Kevin. She got back in the truck and they made leisurely for the house. He said, “What happens if I call you on the phone while you’re inside?”
“I haul ass out the backyard through the house behind’s yard until I reach Elmwood. Follow that to North Hubbard Lane and hide till you pick me up.”
“Right. You ain’t fast, so don’t waste time. Drop everything and git.”
“I might be fast. We’ve never tested my sprint time.”
He laughed. “Girly, I think the world of you. You’re back is as strong as any boy I know, but you’re a Clydesdale, not a thoroughbred.”
They reached the house where the wannabe parked his truck yesterday. Morrison parked in front of a big fir tree, which almost blocked the view of the house. They noticed a doorbell camera on yesterday’s recon. He wanted to stay out of view, so it didn’t ping their phones. Most people got tired of checking their phone apps all the time and finding birds or UPS delivery men. Still, they never took the chance unless they disabled the camera first. The large tree the dumb wannabe had planted negated the goal of his security camera.
Now, if the neighbors just kept to themselves, they could get on with their business. They had never really had any issues. Once a woman came over to ask how what they were spraying for hunting for gossip. By the time she left, Morrison had given her a quote on how much to spray the nosy woman’s house. It’s funny what you can get away with by wearing some coveralls and a little signage. Service people become as invisible as the elderly.
Kay put on a hat matching her coveralls and got out. He waggled his flip phone across the seat at her. “Is your phone on vibrate?”
“Okay sassafras, I’ll just let the cops sneak up on you.”
“I got it set. Just buzz for the fuzz.” She held up her cheap smartphone then slammed the door. In the bed of the pickup, she got out a large empty rucksack and slung it around her shoulders. A white one-gallon pesticide pump sprayer with a longneck nozzle came out next. Nothing but water inside but a great prop to fool anyone watching.
As she passed by his open window, he said, “Be careful, Kay. Trust your gut and everything will be frosty.”
She nodded and went to work as a fake Colson Pest Control associate. She started by spraying the corner of the house, walking through some flower beds carefully avoiding the doorbell camera’s range. Working slowly along the foundation as she went down the incline to the rear of the house. She peeked around the corner, and didn’t witness any security cameras. A couple of steps and she crossed the paved driveway to the basement garage with two bay doors. The regular entry door for people was locked. She peeked in the window and didn’t see any cars.
There were a couple of ways to gain entry into a house. If there were no obvious home security system or services, she could break a window and get in. She could also pick the locks, which worked but took a little time. And then there was the garage door entry. She set down her spray bottle, took off her rucksack, and set it on the driveway. Rucksack unzipped, she took out a bent coat hanger wire and straightened it. There was also a small block of wood.
She wedged the wood between the rubber seal and the upper part of the garage door, opening a seam. She took the wire hanger and looked through the window at the garage door safety release mechanism. Bent the hanger a little, then threaded it through the seam at the top. She fished for a couple of seconds, and hooked the safety release latch. She pulled, and the tension went out of the door. She yanked the hanger out, removed the wedge, and tested the garage door. It glided up easily.
Once inside, she shut the garage door and set her fake pesticide spray bottle on the smooth floor by the smaller exterior door. She unlocked it in case she had to bolt. There was an interior door to the house with a couple of wooden steps and a handrail. She took a look around the garage but doubted there were any guns stored out here. The interior door was unlocked, and she gained entry into a small foyer with steps upstairs to her left and an open floor den to her right.
The short nap beige carpeted floor had a large L-shaped couch in front of a gigantic widescreen television mounted on the wall, complete with an extensive sound system around and below it. There was a bar on the back wall behind the couch. Another smaller flat-screen TV was behind the bar. Plenty of bourbon bottles. A lot of sports memorabilia on the wall. This was the wannabe’s man cave. She felt a little sorry for the wife and daughter already.
There was an open door to the left of the plush couch. She went over, flipped the light switch, and looked inside. An office-type setup with a good-sized cherry wood desk and dark leather desk chair. Some gaudy plaques on the wall read Salesman of the Quarter for the years 2015 to 2017. A small bookshelf with a lot of unopened books and some big work-related binders. On his desk was a small crystal pyramid engraved with Salesman of the Year 2017. The giant peacock’s name was Frank LeRoy.
She smiled when she saw the tall pewter gray gun safe in the corner. A GoodLock Security Company model. She tugged on the three-prong handle to see if he had left it unlocked. The heavy-gauge steel safe was shut tight. No pry bar would work. They never forced entry into a gun safe. Morrison taught her one trick and one trick only.
The circular twelve-digit keypad electronic lock was eye level on the door. Ninety-five percent of all safe makers have a default security code for the locks. Once the owner buys it, they add the combination they want to use. But you have to delete the old security code, or it will still open the safe. The code was always six digits and always one through six. Kay entered the sequence on the keypad. Click. The handle spun freely in her hands, and the safe revealed its contents.
A modified Ruger AR-556 like Morrison guessed. A black Mossberg pump twelve-gauge shotgun with a pistol grip. There were three boxes of shotgun shells stacked at the bottom on top of a 1,000-round case of .223 Remington 56 grain. She was going to have to call Morrison to back the truck down. She was strong, but this would be an awkward carry.
On a top shelf, she found a pink framed 9mm Glock 43. No way this was Frank LeRoy’s pistol. He must have got it for his wife but stored it in here. There was a couple of twenty-round box of 9mm ammo. She expected another handgun but it was likely he was carrying it in his truck cab. What was unexpected was the fifty-round box of .357 magnum hollow points. The revolver taking that type of ammunition wasn’t in the safe. Upstairs in the bedroom, she bet.
She got the rifles and pistol into her bag with the three boxes of handgun ammo. Zipped the ruck up and carried it over into the garage by the exit door. The heavy box of rifle ammo she placed next to her bag. She was going to call Morrison, but the lure of the .357 Magnum was too much. Those guns could cost $1,200 and up. Stussy might pay two grand for it. She put her phone back in her pocket and went up the stairs.
Left was the kitchen and right turned into a quaint living room. Natural light came in from the window, and she navigated the house easily to the master bedroom. A king-size platform bed with a cream-colored bedspread dominated the room. Men usually slept on the right side of the bed for some reason, so Kay sat down on the bed and checked the table. Inside the drawer was a stainless steel .357 revolver with Ruger Redhawk stamped on its frame. As she was checking to see if it was loaded, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She jumped up and looked out the bedroom window. She couldn’t see Morrison’s truck behind the big tree, but she didn’t see any police cars either. She answered her phone. “Are you okay?
He said, “What I wanted to know myself. You’ve been in there too long.”
“I’m done now, but you’re going to need to back down to the garage.”
“Okay, girly. On my way.” He ended their call.
She made for the garage skipping every other step down the stairs. She had the back door of the garage open before he backed around the corner. He didn’t get out to help her. She shrugged the box of rifle ammo up and into his truck bed. Slid it under a heavy sheet of canvas. The rucksack filled with the guns and other ammo went under there as well. She got into the passenger side of the truck, and he hit the gas. They were out of the neighborhood and onto Hubbards Lane before she realized she had the hefty revolver inside her coveralls.
When she pulled it out, he whistled, “That’s a beaut.”
“Figure Stussy will try to cheat you down, but it was worth the extra digging for it.”
He coughed. “You did great girly. Damn fine…” His coughing took over, and they didn’t speak again until he got it under control. Both acted like nothing was wrong.
Kay inked the arm on her latest drawing. A warrior woman in mid-swing with a laser katana held in a cybernetic arm. She heard some cussing coming from the backyard. Sounded like Morrison, but what could he be angry at? She stopped drawing and went out into the dusky evening to investigate. Careful to open and close her door to keep out the insects.
She found him messing with one of his bird feeders. He had about four feeders. Birds were like his television some days. Just sit at the window in the dining room and see what pretty, hungry birds showed up. She thought he also got a kick out of bedeviling the squirrels with all the baffles he attached to keep the bushy-tailed rodents from the birdseed. Two feeders were already detached and set on the picnic table. He cussed again while trying to undo some twisted wire.
“Why are you taking down your bird feeders?”
“You heard the story on the radio. Don’t want to watch any sick bird suffering.”
She came over and held the bird feeder so he could find the knot in the wire. “They said not to feed them anymore. The birds will be back when they ain’t sick no more.”
“Less things I got to take care of the better. I’m…”
“…not going to be around forever,” she finished.
He looked like he might pop his cork, but he just let out a little puff of air. “But it’s true girly. You better be making plans for when I’m gone. You got a lot of future to live. Going to be an outlaw or something respectable?”
He got the wire undone, and she carried the bird feeder over to the picnic table with the others. “Maybe I want to be a respectable outlaw.”
He chuckled. “Think I keep you around for that smart mouth instead of your strong back.”
They went to work on the fourth hanging bird feeder. “I probably should think more about the future, but I’m happy doing jobs with you.”
“You’ve been a great partner. You have, but I want something better for you when I’m gone. Something stable so you can have your own family.”
She mulled on this for a bit while they unclipped the feeder from its hanger. “Except for you, I prefer to be alone.”
“You’ll lie in a grave alone. While you’re above ground, it’s best to surround yourself with friends or family.”
“I don’t have any family.”
“And I don’t anymore. But when I did, it was glorious. Best times of my life. I don’t want you to deprive yourself, Kay. You need to have a life not hang around here helping an old man steal guns.”
She saw her chance to change the subject. “Spoke with Stussy a little bit ago. Primed the pump with the Magnum we got. Bet he pays extra for it.”
He took out a rag and mopped his brow. “Should give us some walking around money with all the guns and ammo. Get you some new markers to draw them crazy women you like.”
She stretched the garden house out and turned on the faucet. Flecks of debris, old seed shells, and bird poop flew off the feeders from the water pressure. He stood with his hands on his hips looked like he was trying to catch his breath. Kay focused on her task and cleaned off the last feeder. She shut off the faucet and came back to his side.
“I’ll let them dry off, then hang in the garage. Unless you want me to toss them?”
“Nah, do like you said. Maybe we’ll have a big yard sale soon. Clear out some of my crap and make some money off some suckers.”
“A yard sale? Sure, we might as well cut out Stussy and just start selling guns in the front yard. Why yes, Miss Wayley, I think a brown gun stock brings out the blue in your eyes.” She started to laugh.
“Four bullets for five dollars or the whole box for fifty.” His laugh turned into a cough, and soon, he was doubled over. Spit some thick phlegm onto the grass. She came over and put a hand on his back.
He tried to speak. Coughed some more, then shook his head. He finally got some space to talk. “I’m heading in. Too much silliness for this old codger. See you in the morning.”
She let him go in without any more words or protest. She noticed the glob of phlegm had some blood in it. Back in her room, she knew she wouldn’t finish inking the arm on her warrior. The envelope with Morrison’s doctor bill waited for her to read for the umpteenth before she went to sleep.
Stussy parked his dark green van near the middle of the Home Depot parking lot. Not too far away from Chik-fil-A restaurant with a packed drive-thru breakfast line. A perfect wholesome Americana spot to sell stolen guns. Morrison pulled nose to nose with the van. Stussy had his ugly hat pulled down over his face and looked asleep. Maybe he had slept here last night. In all their exchanges they had never beaten him to the meet.
Both their truck doors slamming roused him from his slumber. He shifted his hat back into place, recognized them, and gave a two-finger salute. He didn’t get out, so they came over to his window. “Morning. What’s happening with my two favorite entrepreneurs?”
Morrison said, “Can’t complain.”
She just shrugged. And after Stussy realized he wasn’t going to get much more conversation, he got down to business. “Okay, tough crowd. Bring your stuff to the back of the van.”
Morrison followed her to the back of his truck. She undid the tailgate and hefted one used Army rucksack around her shoulders. She picked up the other in her strong right grip and stepped back as he shut the tailgate. She walked calmly and deliberately, so she didn’t drop anything and didn’t draw attention to herself. As far as anyone could tell they were just blue-collar workers exchanging some tools in a hardware superstore parking lot. No one had ever approached them before, and no one ever would. Welcome to the invisible society of outlaws.
Stussy had his van swing doors open and was sitting on the end waiting. “Okay, sports fans. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Kay slid the two rucksacks next to each other on the van floor, making sure to slide them deep enough for cover. She stepped back and kept an eye on the parking just in case a stray lookie-loo or go-getter police officer showed up. Morrison unzipped both rucksacks and spread them open. She heard a whistle from Stussy as he saw the guns and ammo. His business style amused her. He never could hide his delight or disappointment in what they had; hence he never came from a good bargaining position. Morrison would never wiggle on price anyway.
He counted their inventory. “Great haul guys, but where’s that Magnum you were bragging about Kay?”
Morrison hacked a little. “I decided to keep that one.”
“That’s going to take twelve hundred off the top.” Stussy zipped the bags back up.
“Twelve hundred?” stammered Kay. “Sell him the damn pistol.”
Morrison held up a palm to her. “It’s not here. Maybe I’ll sell it sometime later.”
“I didn’t do all that work for…”
“Enough!” He cut her off. The bark caused him to wheeze into a coughing spell.
Stussy zipped up the bags. “You all right, Eddie?”
Kay put a hand on Morrison’s shoulder. “He’s fine. We’re all fine.”
“If you say so.” He tipped his ugly cap back. It was bright purple with some orange tiger stripes. He said it was his disguise. People would never be able to describe his face because the hat distracted them. Wasn’t a bad idea.
He shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “Ain’t got time to put on a show this morning. Got stuff to do.”
Stussy held up his hands in surrender. He reached into the van and brought out a crumpled white Chik-fil-A bag. He opened it and pulled twelve hundred out for the missing Magnum. Handing the bag to Morrison, he said, “Here are your chicken biscuits.”
Morrison unfolded the bag and looked inside. Satisfied, he resealed the bag and made for his truck. “See you later, Stussy.”
“You don’t need any extra ruck bags?” They usually exchanged full bags for empties afterward.
Kay hung back and called to Morrison. “I’ll get them.”
He waved a hand and continued to his truck cab. She waited for him to get out of earshot and asked, “Do you have the pills I asked for last night?”
“One thing at a time, little lady.” He was getting a couple of empty ruck bags out of the van first. After handing her the bags, he took a white pill bottle out of his pocket and shook them. “Like I promised.”
She handed him some folded bills in the amount he told her. Just as they were trading, she looked up and saw Morrison watching them from his seat in his truck through the van’s interior. Old man was slipping in almost every category but vision. His eyes turned to slit, and she felt her cheeks flush. Nothing like the shame of getting caught.
She told Stussy bye, and he crawled back in his van, ugly hat and all. She loped back to the truck dreading the ride home. Still, she got into the passenger’s side. Buckled up and stayed quiet. She felt him looking at her, then he started his truck up and backed out. They made it out of the parking lot and to the second light on Hurstbourne Lane before he spoke.
“I thought you were smarter.”
“Don’t insult me. You want to get high and mess up your life. Wait till I’m good and gone.”
“They ain’t for me.” She leaned into her door.
“Oh, you’re a real outlaw. Going to sell it on the street.” His gravelly voice rose. This red light was taking forever to turn green.
He roared. “Lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me!”
She screamed as loud as her frustration would let her. All the secrets burning the furnace inside her. No words just baying. She fumbled for the door handle and fell out of the car. Her knees bounced on the asphalt. She got up and slammed the door shut. His face caught in an oh-shit moment. The light turned green.
He said, “Get back in the truck girly.”
She crossed in front of his truck to the median. He pleaded with her to get back in the truck. Someone behind them honked at the busy intersection. His eyes flashed with anger again.
“Last time girly. Get in the truck.” His voice started to break
She bawled, “Leave me alone.”
He set his chin high, but a coughing fit came on and stole his pride. His truck pulled away with his jagged coughing ringing in her ear.
Kay had gotten to the house an hour or so later dripping with sweat. She spent her time backpacking all her belongings up in two gym bags she had gotten from the sporting goods store on the clearance table. They were garish red and purple. All her clothes were in one bag. Her Chromebook, markers, drawing pads, and shoes were in the other bag. A roll of a little over two thousand dollars was stuffed in one shoe. She sat on the picnic table between them, holding Morrison’s envelope she had swiped.
She left the bags but carried the envelope with her to the back door. A peek through the window showed him sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She knocked like she usually did, then opened the door and entered. He gave her a half-grin, and she sat down across from him. She put the envelope onto the table between them.
He placed a finger on the envelope and slid it to his side. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I think we both have some things we need to say.”
“I’m sorry I got heated. Those pills? I just want what’s best for you, girly.”
“Because you won’t be around forever?”
He nodded, trying to avoid her gaze. Balancing the corners of the envelope with his fingers, he said, “I wasn’t blowing smoke.”
She saw his mug was empty. “I know why you didn’t sell the Magnum to Stussy this morning.”
“I always liked the .357’s. Feels like the proper gun for men like me.”
She took the mug and went to the coffee pot refilling it. Back at the table, she set it in front of him, and he thanked her.
“My Daddy had a gun. Ivory grip revolver. Ivory was likely imitation but it was pretty.” She slowly sat back down. “He had a lot of guns mostly rifles, but that shiny pistol was his favorite.”
He put his hand over hers. “Kay honey, you don’t have…”
“Mom went missing a couple of years before you met me. Left work and never made it home one day. Police searched for her but no leads. Dad assumed the worst. I felt back then maybe she chose to leave us. Leave me.”
“Did they ever find her?”
“Never did. Dad blamed himself. Stopped taking care of himself. I tried my best. Then one day, I came home from school and found him. His favorite pistol dangling from his stiff fingers.”
“I won’t ask you to fight the cancer. It’s yours. You deal with it how you want. But I would ask one thing.” She reached in her pocket. The bottle of painkillers rattled when she set them on the table. “Don’t use the pistol.”
Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes. He got up, and she met him halfway in an embrace. “I tried to teach you girly. To give you all I know.”
“You did it. I’ll be okay.” She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t let herself.
He finally let loose of her. “What will you do?”
“Everything.” She smiled and walked to the door.
He said, “Where will you go?”
She opened the door wide. “Everywhere.”
He heard her call behind her as she closed the door. “That’s my Kay.”
Rob D. Smith is just a common man attempting to write uncommon fiction in Louisville, KY. His work has appeared in Apex Magazine, Shotgun Honey, Thriller Magazine, Revelations, and several other crime, horror, and speculative anthologies and online magazines. Follow him on Twitter @RobSmith3.