The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 17

                 

The world turns from night to morning the second I focus in on the smear. Red, yellow and feathers. Must've been a bird.

I check for the knife I hid under the seat. It's there. The Mossberg behind the seat. That's there, too.

About that. I knew there was a shotgun behind the seat. No idea how I know that, though.

I could use a drink before I hit the road. Head back to Betrug. Yeah, it's only morning. Not that I ever gave a shit about that before.

I spot a gas station across the street. They probably sell the watered down can beer. It'll do.

I lock up the truck and walk to the station. Spot a tall, black garbage can in the parking lot. The shadow person came from this direction. Maybe I dreamt the can coming alive?

That's when I hear it. Coming from the fairgrounds. Sounds like people arguing. Not in a nice way. I'm curious at first. Then alarmed.

"Fuck you," I hear a voice say.

It's Sam's.

I don't know why I start heading for the fairgrounds. Most of me wants to turn around. Get in the truck. Drive off. Forget this out-stater.

But like most good advice in my life, I ignore it. Pick up my pace. Sure, Sam's an out-stater like any other. I'm not an evil person, though. I think. Mainly, this is the shit I live for, the action. Just like shit shoveling back home.

I spot three big guys huddled around a bench. I hear Sam from inside their semi-circle.

"Get away from me," she says.

I clear the fairgrounds fence in a blink. I'm at the bench in another two. Out of breath, but just in time. Spot Sam beating the hell out of all three guys. Straight knuckles to noses.

The guys look confused. Like they're not sure if they're supposed to hit a female back. More concerned with taking Sam's punches like a man. Doesn't look like it's working. She's already busted two noses under her knuckles. Working on the third.

Not sure whether to help her or just stand there. Seems to have things handled.

"Don't just stand there. Help me," Sam says.

Well, that answers that. I paid plenty of prairie penance as a dull church boy growing up. This'll even things out.

I bury a fist into one of the guys' kidneys. Shoulder him to the ground. Put a boot on his throat. Hold it there while Sam hunkers down and finishes her third nose job. The skin over her knuckles splits open. Reveals a sliver of bone underneath.

The expression on her face is welded in rage. A far cry from the fun she poked at Reverend Jim last night. Maybe she's not that over privileged snot after all. Able to switch between disarming naiveté to get a ride and extreme violence to protect herself. That's classic hitchhiker. Can't learn that stuff in the fancy schools.

I let the guy get to his feet. Recuperate next to the other two. Everyone is exhausted. Sam and the guys from fighting. Me from running. It's odd, but we all stand there for a minute. Catch our breath. Let the last bit of fight drain onto the ground.

"What happened?" I say to Sam. Not that I need to justify anything in my mind.

"Woke up this morning. Saw these guys going through my backpack," Sam says. "Told them to go away. They didn't. So I broke in their fucking noses. Warned them I would." Looks at the sorry trio. "I told you not to touch my stuff, you stupid sons of bitches."

A voice interrupts before I can respond.

"And what do we have here?" says an older guy in a wheelchair. Didn't spot him before. Guess he was just a few yards away. Watching the whole time.

The way he says it, it's like he owned that park bench. He holds court with a long, steel cane. Arms ripped like tractor wheels. Handlebar mustache. Blue ball cap that says, "Navy Vet." Probably bald underneath.

Two other guys flank him. Thick and round. Like meaty hay bales.

Sam is prone on the bench. One hand in her pocket. Probably got that knife close.

"Ya'll making a mess of my bench, are you?" Navy Vet says. Smooth, Southern accent. Out-stater.

Sam doesn't hesitate to reply.

"Your bench? This is a public park," she says. "I was sleeping. These three guys snuck up. Tried going through my backpack."

Navy Vet laughs.

"Sure, sure, it's public. These guys are with me. They were just checking you out," Navy Vet says. Wheels over to one of the nose bleeders. Slaps the guy's jaw with the steel cane. Hard. Guy just takes it. "They needed a good ass kickin' anyway."

Navy Vet wipes the blood off the cane. Turns to me. "And you. You were sleeping in that truck over there, weren't you?" he says.

Had that been him? The shadow person?

"You were watching me?" I say.

"Sure, I watch everyone. See who comes. Who goes. Someone has to keep tabs on the out-staters. Lord knows the cops can't do it anymore. Outnumbered 1,000 to one," Navy Vet says.

"Creep," Sam says.

"Nothing creepy about it. Just playing my part in the boom," Navy Vet says. "There's too much money and time around here. Nowhere to spend either. People bring their oil money into town. They're bored, so they get drunk. Start feeling invincible.

"The police can't control them. The oil companies can't control them. The churches can't control them. If someone didn't bring some order to the situation, the whole damn thing would explode. And that's where I come in."

An out-stater that regulates out-staters? Now this is something new.

Sam crosses her arms. I spot a flash of the knife obscured by her sleeve.

"So you harass people sleeping on benches?" she says.

"Harass? No. Just check them out. For drugs. For weapons. For trouble. Get a head start. It's the newbies who sleep on benches after all," Navy Vet says. Points his cane at Sam's arm. "I hope you know what you're doing with that knife."

Yeah, I do, too. Fists are fine. You can heal up. Knives are all-in. Best used to convince someone they don't want a knife fight. Speaking from experience.

"Can we go now?" Sam says.

"Where are you headed? Maybe I can help," Navy Vet says. He looks at me. Then back to Sam.

"She's looking for work. And I...," I say. Not sure how to fill in that blank. "...I just gave her a ride."

"Have a job lined up?" Navy Vet says to Sam.

Sam shows two empty hands. Must've slipped the knife back up her sleeve.

"Not yet," she says.

"Then allow me to introduce myself. My name is Les," Navy Vet says. "And I want both of you to watch very closely."

Les grins. Reaches into his leather vest. Produces a roll of cash bigger than his hand. More money in one spot than I've seen my entire life.

He peels off a few hundreds like they're toilet paper. Crinkles them up in his hand. Throws the ball at my chest. Does the same again for Sam.

My first instinct is to give it back. No such thing as free money. On the other hand, I wouldn't mind hearing what Les has to say. Can't hurt. Anyone shitting money like that isn't growing sunflowers and beehives for a living.

I need action. And it looks like this guy can give it to me.

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