Page 57 of Road Refugees

“Out of idiocy,” said Crybaby. “Not knowing we have the number one eyes and ears man in Arizona.”

Tobiah grinned with pride, but then the video changed tone. “See? Our man Town pulls his Glock.”

I mumbled, “So he knew he might need protection when he left.”

Slappy yelled, “Yet he shoots the guy in the shoulder! I know Cap’n Spiro better than that. That was an easy shot. He could’ve easily taken the guy out.”

“For sure.” Crybaby nodded. “It was an easy shot.”

I didn’t know much about easy shots, but the way that goon bashed Town with his own forehead made me shudder, ice trickling down my lungs. We saw Town slump down behind my car, out of sight. We saw them open my hatch and remove a tarp I had purchased to line Mickey’s mudroom, before she improved and came upstairs to our bedroom. They ostensibly covered Town with it as a low keening started deep in my chest.

“No…” I whispered.

Tobiah patted my arm awkwardly. “Don’t worry. Not our man.”

Slappy bawled, “He just bugsmashed him. No one dies from that. He’s just passed out.”

“Unconscious,” Crybaby clarified.

The video ended then with the remaining men who weren’t shot or unconscious wrapping Town’s body in the tarp and flinging him in the back of their van. That really got to me. Did they know he was dead? What did they know that we didn’t know?

I asked the men, “Why do you think they took him with them?”

Crybaby started to say, “To find a place to dispose of—” but Slappy cut him off.

He yelled, “To bring him in for further questioning! Notice how Riddlesberger wasn’t there. He’s the head honcho. I suspect they’re doing much of their underhanded sleazery at the farm of Irv Beagle, which is our first stop.”

But when we got to Irv Beagle’s place, my chest ached like a tooth. Was this my destiny, to have every tiny shred of joy squeezed from me until I was just a hollow shell? What is the point of existence, anyway? I’d often pondered that up in Cornucopia, but never in the sheltering arms of Town and The Bare Bones.

“Act classy,” suggested Tobiah as we exited the Prius. “Maybe let me and Heaven do the talking, since you guys look like thugs.”

“I don’t.” protested Slappy. “I’m not wearing a cut.”

“Hey,” protested Crybaby. “Cuts and colors give you respect.”

That was probably true. I knew Town was mulling over whether or not to patch in to the club. I was angling toward encouraging him to do it. I liked the idea of being an old lady. I’d always enjoyed the security and camaraderie of being part of a womens’ club along with Brighten, Tabitha and the others.

“Guys,” said Crybaby, pointing to a horse barn.

Peeking out from behind a corner of it was the blue minivan.

We all took off like siblings calling shotgun. Slappy gained the rise of hill first, elbowing Crybaby out of his way. Tobiah and I were the losers, but we could plainly see it was the Toyota Siena Tobiah had claimed it was. Slappy looked from side to side before lunging for the vehicle and sliding the side door back. It was easy to peek over Tobiah’s shoulder.

My black tarp was crumbled against the far wall of the interior.

“That’s it!” I cried, trying to shove Slappy out of my way.

But he was reaching for something inside. Looked like a small Styrofoam container, such as you would get for a takeout burger. I did grab it from Slappy, squealing, “That’s my hamburger!”

“What the fuck?” the three men mouthed as I opened the container.

“Yes! Yesterday I went to that deli down the hill. I got a burger and forgot all about it in my car!” The container only held a couple of bites worth of bun.

Tobiah said, “They ate your fucking burger?”

Slappy said, “Looks that way. And look. On the seat.” He shoved more people aside to fling open the passenger door. The way he suddenly withdrew the black handgun, although the barrel was pointed at the ground, made my heart cease behind my ribs. Plenty of men walked around with “protection” at Cornucopia, and practiced at our own outdoor range, but rarely did anyone grab one by the grip, just out in public like that. “This is Town’s piece, no doubt about it.” He shoved it down the back of his jeans, although I knew he already had a Ruger stuffed there.

Crybaby looked, too. “No fucking doubt, man.”