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  Even though Nate had given him a severe calling down for following her, Mason now knew her name and where she lived. Tonight, was his night off. He’d drive to Austin later, alone this time, cruise around her neighborhood and get a better feel for what Virginia Rodriguez was all about.

  Cherokee Junction.

  “ABOUT TIME you got here, Nate,” said Harlan, “I been flying solo since I opened up this stinking hole at nine this morning. I’m high on fuckin paint fumes. Ain’t good air flow in here for painting, is what I’m thinking.”

  “How we gonna make money if we don’t get these fuckin cars sanded and repainted?” hollered Nate. “Tell me where else we’re gonna do it?”

  Harlan shrugged. “No idea, Nate. “Don’t get in a shit-fit.”

  Nate spun around and waved a fist at his younger brother, “Don’t you go telling me you already spent all of your cut from the load we shipped last week.”

  “Course, I didn’t. Just sayin, we should get a better spot to work before the fumes fuckin kill us.”

  “Suck it up, little brother,” snarled Nate, “We’re making decent cash. I might even be able to pay my rent this month.”

  “Were y’all late getting back?” asked Harlan. “What did you get for us?”

  “Yeah, we were late. Mason lost his mind in the ramp when we were ready to score, and you won’t believe what he made me do.” Nate leaned on the work bench and laid the story on Harlan.

  “Why the hell would he want to know where she lives?” Harlan frowned. “She’s a doctor, ain’t she?”

  “Yeah, a filthy rich doctor running for governor of Texas. Why in hell Mason wanted to see where she lived, I’ve got no goddam clue, kid. Sometimes I think our brother ain’t all there.” Nate pointed at the car. “Let’s get to work.”

  Park, Drummond, Attorneys at Law. Abilene.

  BLAINE AND JACK were shown into Mr. Park’s office and offered coffee by his pretty dark-haired assistant. Blaine readily accepted because he was a caffeine addict and rarely turned the stuff down. He’d only been a passenger, but it was a long drive from Austin and they hadn’t stopped for a break.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Blackmore.” Dan Park crossed the room in three strides with his hand outstretched and a smile on his face, “So pleased to meet you at last.” Tall and lanky, Park towered over Blaine. His hair was gray, his face tanned, and he had an athletic appearance. Golfer maybe. “In a short time, you’ve made quite a name for yourself as a crime-fighter, in Austin, and all over the state.”

  Blaine nodded and mumbled, “Thank you,” then introduced Jack Prima as his bodyguard.

  Park settled behind his desk and opened a file folder. “I had Helen gather up what information she could find,” he said, “Some of it was even pre-computer and was in storage. It’s been a while since we settled your parent’s estate, sir.”

  Blaine nodded. “I guess I was about fourteen at the time of the accident, and I went missing after that.” He shifted in his seat. “My memory only starts after that, I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Park looked thoughtful as he reflected on it. “Nothing before you were fourteen. Uh huh. I can see where that would bother you. Make you wonder. And now you’re looking for answers.”

  “I am,” said Blaine, “if there are any answers to find.”

  “I’ve made copies of every document in our possession,” said Park, “the wills, the purchase of the house, the sale of the house for the estate, a few other items,” he pointed at the thick file, “It’s all in there.”

  “Thank you for your effort,” said Blaine. “There were no personal effects that you knew of?”

  “I’m sorry, no. But you could check with the couple who bought the property. That’s about the only suggestion I have.”

  “We’re staying until tomorrow, so I’ll call them from the hotel.” Blaine shook hands with Mr. Park wondering if he’d ever been in that office with his parents.

  Cherokee Junction.

  MASON PARKED the Camaro in front of the body shop about one thirty. He’d left Becca sleeping and chugged a couple of Lone Stars for breakfast before he left the trailer. He fed the dogs and filled up their water bowls on his way to the car. Becca was supposed to look after the dogs, but Mason didn’t trust her to remember, and he wasn’t taking a chance on losing a dog as good as his were.

  He broke into a sweat just walking from the Camaro around to the side door. It was gonna be another ball-buster of a day for heat.

  Country music almost deafened him as he opened the side door of the shop. Nate had the overhead doors down so no nosy neighbors could see what went on inside and with the big floor fan on, it was a few degrees cooler than outside—but still hotter than hell on a Wednesday.

  Mason whipped his shirt off before he started to work, then cast a glance at his baby brother and turned the music down. “You’re gonna go fuckin deaf having it that loud, Harlan. Use your head.”

  Harlan’s lip curled. “Why don’t you use yours? Nate said you were chasing the new lady that’s gonna be governor, just for the hell of it.”

  Mason laughed. “I wanted to see where a bitch like that lived. So what?”

  Nate stepped closer. “I’ll tell you what—doing shit like that will put us on the police radar and get us caught—that’s what. I don’t care who you fuck around with on your own time, but I ain’t going to jail because you’ve got a hard-on for somebody you don’t even know.”

  “Why don’t both of you shut up and get to work,” hollered Mason over the music, “I’m the brains of this operation and I won’t screw it up. If we get caught it will be because of some asshole move one of you idiots make—not me.”

  Mason retreated to his makeshift desk at the back of the shop and let the fan blow on his sweaty bare skin while he stared at the address he’d saved to his phone.

  Cherokee Trailer Park

  BECCA WOKE and felt the sheets beside her. Cool, and the house was silent. Was Mason gone already? He hadn’t kicked her last night when he got home wanting sex, and she hadn’t heard him this morning either. What the hell was going on? She knew the man and she knew his habits—Mason needed to get off at least twice a day.

  She started the coffee maker and looked out the front window. The red Camaro was gone. Something was up, and it made her nervous. Mason was a man of habit. He did everything the same day after day. But not today? Why not? A shiver ran through her.

  She shrugged, poured herself a coffee and lit up a smoke. It was nice to have the trailer to herself—even nicer if it turned out to be permanent.

  Better clean my gun today if I’m going to the city on Friday.

  Before she finished her first coffee there was a knock on the door. Becca peeked out the front window to see who it was before she let them in. The park was full of drunks and druggies and they all wanted something.

  Liz, that crack head from the next trailer down the road.

  Becca opened the door a foot. “Hey, Liz, why are you up so early?”

  “It ain’t early, you stupid bitch. It’s two-thirty.”

  “Yeah, well it’s early for me. I work nights.”

  “I need a hit.”

  “I’m cleaned out,” said Becca, “Nothing until the weekend. Going to Austin on Friday.”

  Liz reached out a skinny arm, reached through the six-inch gap and gave Becca a push backwards, trying her damndest to force her way in the door.

  Becca pushed her back and yelled, “I said I don’t have anything. I’m not lying. Get out of here.” Becca tried to slam the door, but Liz stuck her scrawny bare leg in the crack. Becca let out a roar as she leaned on the door using all the strength she had to crush Liz’s leg and make her get out.

  Liz screamed like a banshee. Blood squirted as she jerked her leg free and left several layers of skin behind. She fell onto the front steps of the trailer, clutching her leg. She screeched and hollered out curses as she rolled down the three steps onto the four patio slabs.

  Becca ducked
inside, locked the door and ran to the bedroom to get her gun from the dresser. She knew what was happening next. Liz’s warped boyfriend would be on her like snot. Butch was six feet of angry redneck in a package as ugly as any she’d ever seen. She didn’t want to call Mason to help her, but she might have no other choice. Butch would kill her.

  Becca’s hands shook as she pulled on a pair of jeans and fiddled with the zipper. “Jesus, Liz, when did you turn so fuckin crazy.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest as the pounding on the door got louder and louder. The dogs barked and howled in the pen and she could hear them jumping up and crashing against the chain link. Shaking so bad, she had to try again to get the bullets into the mag. She pushed them in as fast as she could until it was half full, then slammed the mag into the gun.

  Should I let the dogs out?

  She ran to the back door, then stopped and pressed Mason’s number. “Come on, Mason, answer. Answer, damn it. Hurry up.” Went to message and she almost screamed out loud. She pushed Harlan’s number and he answered on the first ring. All she could hear was Willie singing in the background.

  “Help me, Harlan. Hurry.”

  “What Becca? What’s happening?”

  She had no time to answer as she ran out the back door and headed for the dog pen. Mason kept three hunting dogs that were none too friendly to anybody but him. They jumped and bounced as they saw her running across the dirt at the back of the trailer heading in their direction.

  “Help me doggies,” she hollered as she pulled the latch and let them out. Without being told what to do, they rounded the trailer and headed for the pounding on the door.

  One yelped, then Butch came around the corner of the trailer hollering and pointing a shotgun at her. “I’ll kill you, you drug-dealing bitch for what you done to Lizzie.” He raised the shotgun at her and Becca didn’t stop to think. She pointed her gun at his big body and emptied the magazine in his direction before he could pull the trigger.

  Butch hit the dirt with a thud, and the dogs were on him like rats on garbage.

  Gravel flew out front as Harlan hit the brakes. Seconds later he rounded the corner of the trailer running full speed towards her. “What the hell is happening, Bec?” He looked down at Butch and shook his head. “Aw, Jesus, Becca.”

  Becca sank into a sobbing pile on the ground while Harlan called the dogs off and put them back in the pen. Job done, he ran to her, took the gun out of her hands and shoved it into his waistband, then he helped her to her feet and held her in his arms. “You’re shaking, girl. Tell me why that fuckin son of a bitch tried to shoot you.”

  “Liz, it was Liz. She went nuts and I slammed her leg in the door.”

  “That skinny crack head he lives with?”

  Becca nodded, and Harlan held her tighter.

  “What should we do with Butch?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Got a tarp?”

  “Might be one in the store room.”

  “Get it,” said Harlan. “I’ll drag him to the river.”

  Becca ran in the back door and rummaged through the junk in the back room. She came up with a blue plastic tarp and ran outside with it.

  Harlan grabbed it and spread it out next to Butch. There were a couple of rips in it, but it didn’t matter. He pried the Winchester out of Butch’s dead fingers and tossed it under the trailer, then rolled old blood-soaked Butch onto the blue tarp and tied him up nice and snug. “Go in the trailer. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “No, Liz might come. I’m coming with you.”

  After Harlan moved the tarp a few feet, he kicked up the loose dirt with his boot and covered up all the blood. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Becca held the trees out of Harlan’s face as he pushed through, grunting and tugging over two hundred pounds of dead weight behind him.

  “That was a fuckin workout.” Harlan was breathing hard when he got to the river bank. He rolled Butch out of the tarp and Butch’s two-twenty did the rest. Without any help, Butch’s big flabby body self-propelled down the bank and with a huge splash, Butch went for a swim. Harlan heaved the gun as far as he could throw it out into the river.

  “My gun,” mumbled Becca.

  “Can’t keep it, baby doll.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Harlan rolled the tarp up small as he could make it and tied the package with the attached rope. “Got to get rid of this, Bec. I’ll take it to the shop and burn it.”

  Still numb from the trauma, Becca nodded.

  Harlan grabbed her hand and started back to the trailer. “Come on. We’ll have a beer and you’ll feel a helluva lot better.”

  Once they were in the kitchen, Harlan sat Becca down at the kitchen table and got her a Lone Star from the fridge. “Unwind for a minute and you’ll stop shaking.” He whipped his bloody shirt over his head, put it next to the tarp, then spent a few minutes in the bathroom getting Butch’s blood off his hands and arms.

  Becca popped the top on her beer and her cell rang. She’d left it on the table and there were two messages. Mason.

  “Why the hell aren’t you answering. You called me. What the hell do you want? You know I’m busy at work.”

  “Nothing,” said Becca. “Don’t want nothing. Sorry.”

  Harlan came back from the bathroom, still drying his hands and arms. “That son of a bitch, my own brother, making you cry again? You can’t stay with him, Bec. I don’t want you to.”

  “Okay.” She stared at her beer can feeling numb all over.

  More pounding on the door. Harlan strode to the front window. “Cops. The fuckin cops are here.”

  “Liz wouldn’t call the cops,” said Becca, “She’s a crack head. They never call the cops.”

  “Don’t matter,” said Harlan. “I’ll get rid of them.” He opened the door wide with a big smile on his face. “Afternoon, Deputy, helluva hot one.”

  “Sure is. We had the report of shots fired here in the park. Know anything about that?”

  “Nope, haven’t been here long. I was at work and just came home for lunch. Probably kids hunting out back. Woods are thick by the river and running heavy with deer.”

  “Mind if we take a look?” asked the second officer.

  “Hell no, y’all help yourselves, but I’ve gotta get back to the shop.” Harlan pointed, “Skirt wide around the dog pen if you don’t mind it. Those boys ain’t friendly.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” said the one.

  The other deputy had his notebook out. “I need your name for the report.

  “Sure,” Harlan smiled. “Butch Emmerson.”

  Cherokee Junction.

  HARLAN PARKED his turquoise pickup behind the shop, hopped out and strode directly to the incinerator. He shoved the tarp and his bloody shirt way down into the middle of the garbage, set fire to some cardboard with his lighter and made sure it was going to catch before going back inside.

  “Where the hell have you been for the last hour?” hollered Mason. “Becca couldn’t have needed that much help. Nate told me where you went, and you better not be comin on to her.” Mason strode across the garage and took a closer look at his brother. “That’s my shirt, you son of a bitch. You were in my trailer, fuckin my woman while I’m here doing your work? Mason shoved a greasy finger in Harlan’s face, “You’re a dead man.”

  Harlan hollered back, “Cut the bullshit, Mason. I never touched her. You’d kill your own brother over Becca? I thought you were moving higher up the ladder. You’ll soon be fuckin the Governor of Texas, that’s what I heard.”

  Mason swung the wrench in his hand and cracked Harlan on the side of the head. Harlan let out one long groan, hit the floor of the garage hard and didn’t move.

  Nate threw down the sander he was using and ran to help Harlan. He pushed Mason out of the way with a holler. “What the hell are you doing, Mason? This is your brother for chrissake. Get out of here before I rip you apart.”

  The door slammed, and Mason was gone. Nate grabbed a roll of sh
op towels, wadded up a couple and held them against Harlan’s head. “You okay, kid? He had no call to do that. I’ll deal with him later.”

  “I’m okay, Nate.” Harlan struggled to sit up. “Gonna have a goddam headache. Can tell that already.”

  Cherokee Trailer Park.

  BECCA HAD GONE to work by the time Mason got back to the trailer. He chugged a beer, then stripped down and took a hot shower. He stood naked in front of the mirror wondering if the governor woman liked clean-shaven guys or guys with a little scruff on their faces. He’d know soon enough. For now, he’d start fresh. He took out a brand-new razor and shaved off everything but his sideburns.

  Next problem was his limited supply of clothes. Jeans and tees, a couple of faded plaid cotton shirts. Shit, he needed to start over. No way he’d make any progress with a high-class woman like her, if he looked like a fuckin bum.

  The best he had on hand was a pair of clean jeans and a cotton shirt with snaps up the front. Would have to do for tonight. He was only looking tonight anyway—getting the lay of the land.

  He splashed on cologne, decided it smelled like year-old cat piss and added that to his list.

  Last was his hair. Too long. Too shaggy and hanging in his eyes. He added haircut to his mental list, brushed the dark mop out of his eyes, then plopped an Astro’s cap on his head. He picked up his wallet, car keys and shades and slammed out the door.

  Cherokee Junction.

  HARLAN OPENED his eyes and wondered where he was. Took him a few seconds to recognize Nate’s run-down digs. He propped himself up on his elbows to test the waters and his head felt like it would blow apart.

  “Hey, you’re awake,” said Nate. “I was getting worried.”

  “Thanks for scraping me up, bro. Mason gave me a good wallop.”

  “He’ll pay for it,” said Nate, “I’ll make sure he does.”

  Harlan turned and put his feet on the floor. “What time we leaving for Austin?”

  “I think we should skip tonight,” said Nate, “at least you should.”

  “How we gonna bring anything back if both of us don’t go?”