Tonight’s crowd wasn’t as boisterous as it could normally get. They were subdued, drinking quietly or talking. I would have preferred some loud yelling or something, just to keep attention off me, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t recognize anyone and nobody recognized me, as far as I could tell.
Ten minutes after sitting down, a whisky in my hand, I caught sight of him slinking into the room like a rat. Toad looked nervous and out of place as he finally spotted me and came over to my table.
“Hey, Travis,” he said.
“Sit,” I ordered.
He sat. “Everything good?”
“All good. I don’t have much time though. I need to get home. Did you bring it?”
“Parked around back,” he said.
“Everything I asked for?”
“Everything and more.” He frowned. “I’ve heard some rumors about you lately, though.”
“Forget about that.”
“What are you involved in, man? Should I be worried here?”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I don’t know. Shit about the Dixie Mafia and about the Caldwells? I’m worried.”
I grinned at him. “You’re fine, Toad. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Fine.”
He stood up and I followed. We headed out the front door and then walked around back. I couldn’t wait to see it, and I felt like a little kid again. My heart was beating fast and I was grinning to myself.
I’d always wanted one of these. Even back when I was younger, I wanted to get inside one just to feel the power it held. It was like a mythical beast to me.
We got behind the bar and there it was, parked in the lot like a great white whale.
“Well?” Toad asked. “This what you meant?”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Toad shook his head, looking nervous. “What?”
“It’s fucking perfect, Toad.”
The big tractor-trailer truck was exactly what we needed. The eighteen-wheeler was the sort of truck people shipped stuff across the country in, and a lot of guys in Knoxville drove one. There was a strong tradition of truckers in the town, and even my father had driven one for a couple years in his younger days.
“How’d you get it?” I asked him.
“Don’t worry about it. I just need it back in two weeks.”
“I can handle that.”
He handed me the keys. “There you go. She’s all yours.”
I handed Toad a little envelope. He tried to refuse, but he took it once I insisted.
“Good luck with whatever you’re planning,” he said, and then walked away.
Poor Toad. He was worried that by helping me out, he was going to get himself killed. I doubted that, but he understood this game. He knew how it could be. Every deal was potentially dangerous when you worked with dangerous and violent men. Toad was used to the risk, and I wasn’t going to treat him like a fucking kid about it.
I walked around the truck once, inspecting the tires and wheels. It looked good, or at least good enough. The container was empty, though it smelled like dog food. Finally, I got up front and started the engine.
Power, so much power. I pulled it out of the lot slowly, getting a feel for the way she moved. It was like a giant slug crawling along, and that was how I liked it, slow and steady and strong.
I took the long way home. I hit the streets, opening her up, letting her speed a bit. I got a feel for the handling, the acceleration. By the time I was finished playing around, it was well past one in the morning.
It took me another twenty minutes to find a spot where I could park it. Once I did, I walked back toward the apartment.
And as I approached, I slowly stopped in my tracks. Something was missing, but I was having a hard time figuring it out.
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
My fucking car was missing.
This wasn’t a bad neighborhood. Cars didn’t just get stolen around here. It simply didn’t happen.
Someone who knew me took my car. Someone with access to the keys.
My stomach sank as I slowly realized exactly what had happened. I didn’t waste a single second. I just turned and ran back toward the truck, terrified of the consequences.
Chapter 21
Hartley
I was in bed when I heard Travis talking on the phone. I couldn’t make out the words; it just came through like a dull murmur. Not too long after he made a bunch of calls, I heard the door open and then shut behind him.
It was around eleven at night, and I wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon.
I just kept thinking about the peach farm and my parents. I kept remembering the way the trees smelled when they were in bloom, the way a fresh peach tasted straight from the tree, my mother’s laughter, my father’s hard work. I knew my brothers were helping out and taking care of things, but I couldn’t stop myself from fearing the worst.