Then, when payday came around, he'd stock a reasonable amount away and blow through the rest like a tornado rolling through the Grain Belt. He'd saved a nice little nest egg for himself, but he was getting tired of going from job to job. He liked his work, but he liked not working even better. This gig right here … well, he'd have enough to save for a rainy day and a nice, long, multi-year vacation, as well.
He was humming again, unconsciously. He only noticed when Jeremy brought it to his attention, the cop snapping his head around faster than a nasty schoolmarm who'd seen one of her students passing a note in class.
"What the hell are you humming?" Jeremy snapped, eyes narrowed. Silas didn't turn to look at him. That would only taunt the bull, and Silas knew the best matador was the one who made it out of the ring alive.
"Just a little tune been stuck in my head for a few days. You know it? Goes like this?" Silas hummed louder, the song that had been playing in his head recently, an old Dylan tune called "You Ain't Going Nowhere".
"I know it. That's one of my favorite songs. Gabriella's too," Jeremy growled, but the growl sounded forced and sad. Jesus Christ, kid, you are one sorry piece of shit, Silas thought.
"Does it bother you, buddy?" Silas asked, his tone neutral.
"I'm not your buddy, and yes it does. Very much so," Jeremy said, now looking back out the passenger side window. Silas noted, out of the corner of his eye that his client's hand had unfurled, no longer a fist. Now he sat his hand on his knee, palm-down. Silas guessed there would be some distinctive crescent moons carved into Jeremy's palm from the way he'd been clenching throughout the whole trip.
He wondered how long it would take before Jeremy went back into Rambo-mode.
Not long, he guessed. And he was right; fifteen minutes later, that hand was a fist once more, whiter and tighter than ever. Silas kept his vocal chords quiet, but the song still played in his head.
… buy me a flute and a gun that shoots
tailgates and substitutes
strap yourself to the tree with roots
you ain't goin' nowhere …
19
"Well … I mean … it's got four wheels and an engine … I guess that's really … all I need?" I chewed my lip as I stared down at the little junker that the old man had proudly driven around the corner and parked before me.
I couldn't tell if it was the color it was because of the rust, the dust, or because it was supposed to be that color. A very faded and half-unreadable logo indicated that the car had, at one time, been a Ford, though I doubted the company would be willing to take ownership of it in the shape it was in. The tires, at least, looked new-ish. A dented passenger-side door, a missing handle on the back driver's side door, and a crack in the rearview that would put a plumber to shame completed the perfect aura of "total shit" that the car gave off.
"Ayup, it'll run ya where ya need to go, but she ain't no looker, that's for damn sure," Frankie, the dealer, said, finishing with a healthy spit of chewing tobacco juice onto the desert dust.
"Frankie, you're shitting me. You think a girl like this wants to be seen in this beater? Now, I saw some shiny little pieces back there when we were coming down the road, don't you tell me you can't do us better than this," Reign said, his arms folded. He stood beside me in his cut, a term I'd only just learned. I had no idea how he kept it on in the oppressive heat, which seemed to crack everything in sight. I'd take a sip of water and immediately feel it evaporate on my tongue.
"Short notice? Clean plates? Full reg? For a trade-in? I'll do you good, you know that, but I ain't tryin' to put myself outta business," Frankie said, mimicking Reign's posture and drawing himself up to seem taller than he really was. The two men stared into each other's eyes; I fidgeted, arms behind my back. Finally, though, Frankie's shoulders slumped and his eyes and arms both dropped.
"Okay, okay, Reign, yer a good customer, I tell ya what, I'll see what all I gots back there for the little Miss," Frankie said, another glob of chewing tobacco spit flying from the side of his mouth as he turned away and got back into the old rust bucket, driving away with a clatter that could have raised the dead. Not ideal for discreet passage anywhere.
"Thanks," I said, looking up at Reign gratefully. I'd doubted that the car even had air conditioning, and in heat like this that was going to be a must.
"No problem. I told you I'd take care of you. Frankie's a good guy, but he'll always try to get one over on you if he can. He knows better than to try and screw with me too much, though," Reign said. "But if I hadn't been here, you'd have taken that hunk of junk?"
I shrugged. I wasn't much for haggling. And my ability to stick up for myself in any sort of situation had been gathering dust ever since I'd met Jeremy. I probably would have taken the deal, just to avoid the conflict. Reign shook his head and reached out suddenly, hooking his inner elbow around my neck and pulling me in close. It was too hot to be that close to him, honestly, especially in all that leather, but it felt good all the same to smell him, to feel his breath against the top of my head.
"You gotta get better at stickin' up for yourself, dollface. You can't be waltzing around on your own with fear in your heart. That's a recipe for nothing good," he said, his jaw moving against my scalp. I pulled away, feeling my body screaming for air. I couldn't remember ever being so damn hot in my whole life; the day before, I'd slept through the worst of the heat. Now, it was just past noon and the sun was high and beating down relentlessly. This desert life would take some getting used to …
No, it's not, because you're leaving, soon, I thought, surprised at the way my mind had acted like I was staying there. That still wasn't the plan, no matter how much I'd taken to Reign. He was, after all, just a man. There would be other men. And I didn't need a man right then, anyway, did I? I'd had enough man over the past five years to last me a lifetime …
But I couldn't ignore the twitch of pain in my heart when I told myself all that.
With a sudden roar, I heard an engine kicking to life from the parking lot behind the little office building, and moments later I had to shield my eyes from the sun's glare as a bright, shiny, red car pulled around the corner. This car was like Tom Cruise compared to the old Ford's William DeFoe. It was an older model, for sure, but it had been well cared for and looked brand new. I had to smile and suppress a giggle; imagining myself speeding down the highway in this little red cruiser seemed way too idyllic. This one was a Ford, too; a Mustang to be exact.
"This more your style, hun?" Frankie said, pulling up beside us and letting the engine idle.
"Perfect, Frankie, way to deliver, my man," Reign said, turning to me with a huge grin on his face.
"But … it's a little … flashy … isn't it? I mean … it'll draw attention, maybe," I said, eyes roaming back and forth over the humming car, drawn to it for its obvious style and charm but worried all the same. I needed something like a Honda Civic or something that was a dime a dozen; not this eye-catching little number.
"Gabriella, you'd draw attention in a Kia minivan," Reign said with a laugh.
"I'm serious, Reign, I don't want to make any waves … "
"Baby, if you're gonna get caught, it won't be ‘cause your wheels are too good. Trust me. Besides, would your ex ever imagine you'd find yourself in something like this? The dick's gonna be looking for you in something like that old jalopy Frankie just tried to sell ya, or a goddam black sedan. Hidin' in plain sight, babe, that's the name of the game," Reign said, clearly enamored with the car for his own reasons. It was pretty cherry, with the gleaming sunlight caressing the curves and making it look like a little red bullet.
"You want somethin' basic, I think I gotta couple I could show ya. Toyota Tacoma, that's pretty basic … " Frankie started to say, scratching his white beard, which was long enough to reach the collar of his shirt. He didn't look like any used car salesman I'd ever met before; but, then, nuclear families looking for something to take their kids to soccer practice probably weren't his typical clientele.
"No," I said, the word flying from my mouth quite unexpectedly. I did want this car. It was sexy, and cool, and I could just imagine how it'd feel to gun down a lonely desert highway with the top down, headed south, to freedom. "I'll take it."
"Atta girl. Whooee, damn, Frankie, where was this baby last time I needed a getaway car? You been hiding ‘er in the shed or something?" Reign said, taking a step closer to the car to inspect it.