Chapter 20

Chapter

Twenty

LOCKE

J uniper, Texas was hot, dusty, and almost a cliche in how small it was. As advertised, there were a handful of buildings lining the dusty main street. The street itself boasted cracks and potholes that you'd think they could fix easily enough—it was only one road.

Apparently not, though. Most of the buildings were a max of two stories. Made sense, they didn't need more space. The largest building was the school…

The fence around it had plenty of holes and tears. The playground equipment was sad and faded. It was also completely empty of children. I checked my watch as I studied the school from between the general store and the local laundry that was also a bait shop, and boasted a Notary Public on staff.

A bait shop meant they had to have fishing somewhere. But I hadn't seen any water on the way in. Maybe it was somewhere else. What I had seen was dust. More dust. Some rocks. Dust. The occasional hay field. And dust.

McQuade bumped my shoulder as he passed me and I fell into step behind him with Remy following me. We'd snagged attention when we'd pulled in at the diner. Leaving the car there had been a choice. There were also cameras set up on the front and back. Patch would keep an eye out on us and the car.

Bells hanging on the door rattled and rang in the most discordant fashion. It was definitely not the right note. Kind of like the town itself. The whole place rubbed me the wrong way.

We split up. I was sliding listening devices into place as I checked out the merchandise. One under a shelf here. Another on the edge of a display there. Places where we could maximize the coverage.

McQuade headed back toward the freezers and Remy kind of drifted along in my wake. Like McQuade and me, Remy wore jeans, a t-shirt, and boots with a baseball cap over his shiny bald head. Keeping silent had been my suggestion.

We were already going to stand out, strangers in a strange land and all that. His accent would be a great big red flag waved at a bull. No, we'd keep that in our back pockets thank you very much.

The man at the register stared at me as I wandered about. I looked at everything but didn't pick up any one item. Instead of reacting to the hard gaze of the clerk, I focused on getting my devices into place.

The store was a lot bigger inside than I expected. There was also a counter for a pharmacist, but the sign hanging there said Closed, and to find Earl at the Vet's office if it was an emergency.

I could barely suppress the shudder that wanted to crawl through me. People in small towns wore lots of hats, but I was pretty sure this might be my definition of hell. Give me my big cities with their noisy streets, pollution, street vendors, hawkers, and street performers working their hustle between buildings that blocked out the sun.

Anonymity was like candy and I craved it. Fading into the woodwork was a fuckload harder in a place where everyone knew your name, your business, and probably your secrets.

No. Fucking. Thank you.

"Can I help you find something?" The barest hint of a Texas drawl feathered over the words.

Dressed in the brownest uniform I'd ever seen—brown trousers, brown shirt, brown jacket, brown cowboy hat, and for fuck's sake, a brown tie—the deputy eyed me with a kind of suspicious friendliness. That was a challenging combo. I wanted to give him two points for the effort.

"No, thanks," I said, adopting a bare hint of the same drawl he'd used. When manufacturing an accent, it was always better to not lay it on too thick. Besides, Texas was huge. I could be from just about anywhere. "Just trying to make a list in my head. Forgot to make one before we left."

The click at the end of my statement was a little tsk. The first time I'd heard it, Patch had been scolding me for moving too fast. She just did this little click with her tongue at the end of the scold.

I kind of liked it.

Fit this character I was playing.

"Might help you remember more to write it down," the deputy said, some of his friendliness sanding away and leaving only the suspicion. "You just passing through?"

"Uh oh," Patch murmured in my ear. "Someone doesn't like you."

"Maybe," I said, as much for her as it was for him. Hell, the quick smile touching my lips was definitely all about her. "Might stick around a while. You never know."

"Is that right?" The deputy eyed me like I'd kicked his dog or something. Kind of insulting. I didn't kick dogs. Might kick this asshole if he didn't fuckoff.

The man shifted his gaze to behind me. Remy had already let me know he was there with a faint drag of his step. This was a recent development. If we were all going to be living in such close quarters, he and McQuade needed to make sounds when they walked. They were too damn quiet and I was going to end up stabbing them or something.

"Could be," I said, giving him a smile that was all teeth. "Thanks for asking, Deputy. I always appreciate a friendly town." Also, you can go suck a dick , I finished in my head.

I circled round him, not giving him too wide a berth, but not invading his space and moving on to the next aisle.

"What about you?" The deputy stepped in front of Remy, stopping him from following. "You just passing through with your…"

Patch sighed. "His name is Leroy Jenks Wilson. He was born and raised in Juniper. His daddy is the sheriff, and he's got ‘bully' written all over him. Lots of petty shit with the law in the big cities, nothing locally."

Daddy probably cleaned it up.

"His father probably swept it all under the rug. It's a place where everyone knows everyone else. He's got power and he isn't afraid to exercise it."

"You don't say," I murmured, then pivoted as the deputy jerked his gaze to me.

"What was that?"

"Robbie there can't talk," I told the deputy. "He can't say what he's doing here. Though, you could probably hazard a guess that since he's with me, he might be passing through. He might not."

I was all smiles, and very friendly.

"He don't look like he's got something wrong with him." It was official, I would like to add burying Leroy Jenks here in the desert sooner rather than later.

He was fucking annoying.

"Son," McQuade said, his voice deeper and gruffer than I'd ever heard him before. "Maybe you should walk along before you give a man who served his country any more grief."

McQuade just stepped right into the deputy's space, blocking him from Remy. The deputy wasn't a particularly small man, but he wasn't anywhere near as tall as McQuade and had to be at least thirty to forty pounds lighter on the muscle.

I had to wipe the smile off my face before I started to grin like an idiot. Deputy Wilson actually paled and there was just the finest sheen of sweat on his brow.

"I didn't see a uniform," he said, not quite stuttering the words. "You have to understand, Mister…"

"Sir," McQuade corrected him, his expression could have been carved from granite.

"What?" Deputy Wilson stumbled to a halt.

"You called me ‘mister,' the correct address is sir ."

"Yes, sir," the deputy said almost automatically. "Sorry, sir."

Not laughing took every ounce of my effort.

"Better. Now son, maybe you should just go on about your day and your business. You clearly have a job to do. We're just here to get some supplies and take a look around the town."

None of which was a lie.

"Might even head over to that nice diner where we parked. Been stuck eating their grub for the last few weeks. Always ready for something better."

"I see," Deputy Wilson absolutely floundered now. He'd lost the thread here, utterly surrendered it to McQuade's authority. I could feel bad for the little shit, but he was a little shit. "You might ask Ms. Nora about the pie. She always makes a fine cherry pie this time of year."

"Well, I haven't had a fine cherry pie in a while," McQuade answered. "I'll have to do that. Thanks, son. Now… don't let us keep you any longer."

We didn't move though. McQuade's posture made it clear that we were not going to be the ones who surrendered the ground. Deputy Wilson here would be the one who walked out.

The standoff, or what it was, lasted for another thirty seconds. Deputy Wilson could not hold McQuade's gaze, he kept shooting a glance at me or Remy then tried to go back to McQuade.

The beads of sweat on his forehead increased and one slid down his cheek. Finally, he jerked off his hat and waved it at himself like he was too warm. "Well, if you have any questions… I'll be around at the sheriff's office most likely. We're a tight little town."

"Sounds good." McQuade still didn't move or back off. The deputy retreated a step, then another, before he finally turned on his heel and stalked out of the little store. The discordant jangle as the door slammed echoed through the place.

"Nicely done, Sugar Lips. Maybe I should call you Sugar Tongue."

I choked and even Remy wore a hint of a grimace, but McQuade was all smiles. "We'll discuss that later." The unspoken "Sugar Bear" hung off the end of the sentence.

"I look forward to it. I'm picking up all the new mics. We need to add more cameras. So let's finish up in here gentlemen and you should probably buy something since you chased off the deputy."

Yeah, I felt real bad about that. Not rolling my eyes, I lifted my chin toward McQuade. "You find anything we need?"

"A couple of items," he said, his thoughtful gaze sweeping the place. I didn't wonder too much about what he saw. The store itself was tidy, if dilapidated and aged. The linoleum had definitely seen better days. The shelves had taken on a gray cast, though they'd likely been a cream color at one time.

Whoever looked after this place definitely cared about it. The stock was stacked in neat rows and it was all managed with a kind of rigid tidiness I could respect. Yet, all that work couldn't erase the weathering of time marching through the space.

If they made enough to keep it operational, it didn't likely leave much over for improvements. Probably had to make due with what they had and for years, just cleaning probably did it.

The cracks in the linoleum betrayed more than just age. It betrayed fading to obscurity. Shaking off that melancholy, I headed toward the produce section. It wasn't the best, but it all looked fresh.

There was no meat counter, but the sign said you could leave a message for the butcher about the cuts you needed. He only came by twice a week. Small towns gave me the damn hives. Remy continued in my shadow, though he paused at a display and pulled a snow globe off the shelf.

Weird place for one. The circle left behind on the glass said it had been there a while. It was mostly dusted, but you couldn't get it all if you didn't move the items. The piece inside the snowglobe was a miniature Texas and a tree.

Remy thrust it at me and I gave a little shrug. Sure, why not. A couple of new shoppers came in as we gathered some random items—bread, Ding Dongs, a box of exceptionally cheap wine, batteries cause they were always useful, and a couple of paper maps that were at the register.

The clerk glanced from me to McQuade, but his gaze just slid right over Remy. For his part, Remy just kept quiet and his gaze wandering. No doubt he'd heard the part about "Robbie" not being able to talk.

When the clerk rang up the total, I didn't say a word about the markup on the items, kid was not that slick. I just peeled off a few twenties and paid for it in cash. I even dropped some pennies into the little dish for those who might be short.

Items bagged up, we made our way out. Not even four steps along the path that would take us toward the beauty shop and barbers, I could feel the eyes on us.

More, I started tracking the placement of people. A guy hung out on the porch of one business, rocked back on two legs of his chair. Another worked on a car on the street—or at least he pretended too. He had the hood up and was unscrewing the carburetor cover.

The little town was being awfully precious about their secrets. A man left the sheriff's office across the street, strolling out slowly. His hat was low, hiding his eyes, and he was dressed in the same shitty brown. He was older and boasted a paunch that came from one too many beers while eating a bit too much grease.

Deputy Wilson's daddy no doubt.

"Boys," Patch exhaled softly, the whisper of her voice like a blast of fresh air in the growing oppression of the hot and humid air. "We have three cars incoming, and there's a fourth one that just pulled into the diner and parked right next to the SUV."

"We got their attention," McQuade said with a satisfied smile.

We had at that. But even as I kept my head on a swivel, there was a question chewing on me. It was almost lunchtime. Why couldn't we hear kids playing over at that school? And where were the women? Kids meant women, right?

"Come on," McQuade said, slapping me on the shoulder. "I'm in the mood for some cherry pie."

"Be careful," Patch admonished.

"I'm always careful," McQuade said, adding a little swagger to his steps as he led the way back up the street. If we were gonna be watched, he was apparently determined to put on a show.

"No," Patch said. "You're not. But I've got eyes on you."

That… that relaxed a lot of the tension this place had pulled taut in me. We had Patch's back and she had ours. This place might hold the next clue to find the bastards after her.

Cherry pie was beginning to sound really good.